


Beauty is Skin Deep (But Poison Goes All the Way)

by dreamwithinadream1010 (NacreHeart29)



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: (but really pls read cause i have put hours into this and i'm a snail who craves validation), (shameless plug), :), A lot - Freeform, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Assassination, Assassins & Hitmen, Attempted Murder, Big Gay Mobsters, Butterflies, Clothes Shopping, Crying, Dance Metaphors, Death Threats, Dom Kim Seungmin, Dom Lee Felix (Stray Kids), Dom Lee Minho | Lee Know, Don't Ask, Dreams and Nightmares, Falling In Love, False Hope, Felix is Confused, Grading System, Human Trafficking, I Don't Even Know, I know nothing about DnD, I'm Sorry, IN is adorable but also terrifying, Identity Issues, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Insomnia, Interlude, Internal Conflict, Jisung hates everything, Knives, Language of Flowers, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), No Smut, POV Alternating, Past Memory Loss, Random Characters - Freeform, Realization, Recovery, Ribbons, Royalty, Self-Discovery, Slow Burn, Song: Daechwita (Agust D), Submissive Han Jisung | Han, Submissive Seo Changbin, Suicide Attempt, Switch Bang Chan, Switch Hwang Hyunjin, Unethical Experimentation, also because i just can't do it, also important, avatar the last airbender style martial arts, because i'm asexual, blueberry or chocolate? the debate continues, but for now it's platonic because i'm a wimp, cause i need them, chan is questioning his life decisions, changbin wants to go home, changbin's pink airport sweater, coming soon to a fic near you!, desensitization, discovery of character through mundane situations, dnd metaphors, does author really like seeing lights in eyes?, fake countries, fake culture, from whose point of view? pretty obvious, geese vs. bears: the great debate, go listen to it, haven't decided an ending yet, hinted at/future OT8, hitman style assassinations, holy noodles that's a tag, how do i summary? the long-awaited conclusion, how do i tag? the thrilling sequel, how do i title? book one, hyunjin hates onions, i listened to Changbin's Cypher so many times while writing this, i'll put a warning on each chapter just in case but be careful ok?, is there a tag for brainwashing? because i need it, ish, ish?, it's clearer if you read the thing, jeongin is here to save the day, just bear with me ok?, like it's alluded to but never described in detail, like the game hitman, look it's literally the perfect song for this fic ok, minho is having a minor crisis, never described but there anyway, no one ever says it but the 'fuck you' is implied, not in a sexual way just knives, not me, not really honestly, nothing sexual because i'm a wimp, nvm i have finally figured out the ending, of what? everything, oh my god that's a tag, oh so that's not a tag but big gay mobsters is, out of the frying pan into the fire, outright identity crisis, please don't read if any of these trigger you, potentially, seungmin is mildly concerned, seungmin's past is referenced but never fully described, sorry guys i gotta make y'all sad before i can make y'all happy, that should have been there a lot earlier, that tag should have been here a lot earlier, that's actually gonna be really important soon, that's canon, that's not a tag?, that's relevant cause i listened to it on loop so much, the angst is going to be over soon, the orientations aren't too important, there will be a lot of that because i'm going to make y'all suffer, there's always more angst, they're having a grand old time!, they're just there because i'm a fool, this is getting more and more concerning by the minute, this just kept rattling around in my head, to horrible things, war?, we made it kids, we'll see, we're here to suffer children HAVE FUN, well it works, well there you go, what about it?, who am I kidding, who am i talking to? you'll see, who knows - Freeform, why did i do this, will i make a short story describing his past? perhaps, will not update regularly, yeah i have a lot of tags, yes i named it after the BTS album so what, yes that's serious, you know how much pain i felt writing these?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 74,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27732715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NacreHeart29/pseuds/dreamwithinadream1010
Summary: Basil and camellia: success and perfection. It's a demand, not a compliment, Changbin knows.They're one of the best strike teams: loyal, powerful, effective. Sometimes, he'll wonder what his life would have been like had he not been chosen. But that's not something that matters, is it."Smile and look pretty, darling;Soon this will all be a dream."
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Han Jisung | Han/Hwang Hyunjin, Kim Seungmin/Yang Jeongin | I.N, Lee Felix/Seo Changbin
Comments: 83
Kudos: 129





	1. Aconite on a Monday Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Red Seoul Captive](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23251570) by [elle_O_moonchild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elle_O_moonchild/pseuds/elle_O_moonchild). 



> Welcome to chapter 1 of my new (self-indulgent) fic, Beauty is Skin Deep(But Poison Goes All the Way) ! I promise you, the title is not nearly as deep as it appears. 
> 
> This was based off of elle_O_moonchild's wonderful fic Red Seoul Captive. The premise for this story belongs to her; I do not take credit for the idea. Go read their story! You will love it.
> 
> The first chapter is mostly fine. There is a mention of suicide, so if that might trigger you please click away. 
> 
> Please keep in mind that this story is not set in South or North Korea. I'm not using traditional terms like 'hyung' because those are Korean and this is a different fantasy setting. I apologize if that's disrespectful in any way. Certain elements of the story are based off of Chinese and other Asian martial art styles. I intend no disrespect towards those traditions or cultures. 
> 
> This story will not update regularly, so keep that in mind. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -Jay

It’s night.

Changbin sits cross-legged on the bed, scrubbing irritatedly at a stubborn spot of blood on one of his knives. Jisung is curled into his side, eyes closed but not quite asleep yet. Chan is lying next to Jisung, staring up at the ceiling. 

Sometimes, at night when they group together like this, Changbin can pretend they’re normal. That they’re just three friends relaxing after a long day. Sure, there is a fading bruise on his ribcage. Chan might have a patch of dried blood hidden beneath his shirt. Maybe Jisung has a gash on his right arm. But that’s normal. Typical people stuff. 

Tomorrow they might have to go kill people. For tonight, though, he can just watch shadows flicker over the ceiling. Pretend they’re staring at the night sky instead of cracked concrete. Pretend he’s sleepy and not tired. 

But this is the life he signed up for and he’s glad to serve the Monarch.

“Got a call.”

It’s Chan. It’s always Chan who breaks the ice, voice low and husky. Changbin pauses in his scrubbing; the blood has come off anyway. Jisung doesn’t open his eyes but Changbin can tell he’s listening.

“The Monarch?”

“Yeah.”

“Who?” It’s Jisung this time.

“Some leaders. Stray Kids.”

“File?”

“Here.”

Changbin takes the folder and smooths it out, noting the usual cluster of basil and camellia inscribed in the corner. Success and perfection. It’s a demand, not a compliment.

He spreads the contents out on the mattress. Wordlessly they huddle around it.

**Lee Minho.**

**Hwang Hyunjin.**

**Lee Yongbok.**

**Kim Seungmin.**

**Yang Jeongin.**

Changbin picks up Lee Yongbok’s page first. The image displayed is a bit blurry, but he can make out the face reasonably well. Dark eyes, full lips twisted up in a surprisingly sunny smile, straight nose, thin eyebrows. He’s reminded of a story he once heard. It’s not something he remembers well, but he thinks there was an axe and trees. It probably didn’t matter much anyway.

**Lee Yongbok**

**Status: Dom**

**Skillset: Interrogation, hand-to-hand combat (Taijiquan), diplomacy**

Diplomacy. Fitting.

**Age: ~20**

**Height: Unknown**

**Weight: Unknown**

**Position: Co-Leader**

“Pass,” Jisung says, reaching for his page. Changbin hands it over and takes the one Chan was looking at.  **Lee Minho** , it reads. The picture is less blurry than Yongbok’s. High cheekbones, narrowed eyes, rounded jaw. 

**Lee Minho**

**Status: Dom**

**Skillset: Torture, poisons, hand-to-hand combat (Changquan)**

**Age: ~22**

**Height: Unknown**

**Weight: Unknown**

**Position: Leader**

The leader, huh. Changbin studies the image intently, notes the jagged scar on the cheekbone. He’ll have to remember this face.

“Check Kim Seungmin,” Chan says, handing the page over. “Jisung, Hwang Hyunjin.”

“Aw, but Yongbok is so cute!”

Kim Seungmin’s picture is also blurry. Changbin notices a small spot on his collarbone. Tattoo or dirt. Probably a tattoo.

**Kim Seungmin**

**Status: Dom**

**Skillset: Hacking, knowledge of people, hand-to-hand combat (Taijiquan)**

**Age: ~20**

**Height: Unknown**

**Weight: Unknown**

**Position: Co-Leader**

Hacking and perception. Likely an intelligence-based soldier. 

It’s at 1:23 when they finally go to bed, having reviewed all the profiles and figured out their next steps. Changbin brushes his teeth, staring at his reflection in the foggy mirror. Jisung moves towards the sink and he automatically steps out of the way. They move in silent synchronization, eyes heavy from exhaustion.

As one of the best assassin teams of the Butterfly Monarch, Changbin, Chan, and Jisung are expected to keep nothing more than a working relationship. It’s to stop them from getting too attached in case of death or other… nefarious doings. They rarely ever even refer to each other by their actual names, just going by codenames all the time. It’s just safer.

That doesn’t stop Chan from tugging Changbin in close once they go to sleep, trusting the cover of darkness to hide them. Neither does it stop Jisung from wrapping his arms around Changbin’s waist, legs tangled with his and Chan’s. He lies back on the pillow and stares at nothing, waiting for the noise in his head to die down.

  
  
  


At 6:30 AM on the dot, Changbin wakes up. Chan is already awake, tugging on a jacket. He meets Changbin’s eye and nods, silently signifying the start of the day. 

Jisung blinks awake just as Changbin is sliding off the bed, staring at him with hazy eyes. Changbin simply meets Jisung’s gaze. The movements and gestures are ingrained into his mind, a product of years of living together. Changbin strips off his t-shirt and replaces it with a padded shirt, pulling on a pair of black athletic pants and shrugging on a matching windbreaker. He tucks his knives into his pants and clips his taser and gun to the inside of his jacket. Last is a pair of leather gloves. Changbin flexes his fingers to get rid of the stiffness, shaking off the last vestiges of sleepiness. 

Chan, who by now had finished grabbing his stuff, hands them both a plastic bowl of vegetables and rice. Changbin chews mechanically, swallowing every bit. He’ll need the energy.

“Done?” Chan asks, tossing his own bowl into the trash. Changbin swallows what he thinks might be a bean and nods, throwing the bowl and spoon out as well. Jisung flicks his over Changbin’s shoulder.

“Yeah. Coms?”

“Coms,” Chan agrees, passing them over. Jisung reaches around Changbin to grab them and he steps to the side a bit, taking his own and clipping it to his ear. He grabs his face mask and curls the straps around his ears, adjusting the cloth a little. Adrenaline is gradually starting to pump through his veins.

“Remember what we’re supposed to do,” Chan says as Changbin buckles on his boots. “For the Monarch.”

Changbin stands up and laces his fingers through Jisung’s and Chan’s. “For the Monarch,” he echoes. The rough leather of Jisung’s gloves brushes against his own.

“For the Monarch,” Jisung says last, voice muffled behind his mask. Changbin squeezes his hand and Jisung squeezes back, a moment of wordless comfort before they separate.

The streets of South Allesia are bustling with people. Changbin pulls his hood over his head and easily melts into the crowd, hunching his shoulders and swerving away from the rest of his team. His com fizzles on with a hiss of static.

_ “SpearB, J.One?” _

Chan. Or CB-97, as he calls himself.

_ “Read. SpearB.” _

_ “Read. J.One.” _

_ “Left,”  _ CB-97 says and Changbin merges into the stream of people walking left, dodging an incoming stroller and stepping over a crumpled box. He can see J.One out of the corner of his eye.

_ “Where.” _

_ “Up front, with the fence.” _

_ “Pass by?” _

_ “Yes. You go left, J. B, right. Coms off.” _

CB’s voice hisses out and Changbin moves off, scanning the crowd quickly. He doesn’t want to seem suspicious by approaching the large mansion-like building so he avoids it for now, wandering through the streets and making note of how many guards there are. Around eight, it seemed. 

He spends some time just moving around, observing. There appear to be guards in the interior as well, patrolling in circles. The guards out front change regularly, going from what seemed like left-to-right. Changbin notes the tasers clipped to the outside guards’ belts. The inside guards appeared to have guns, though he’d have to get a closer look to be sure. 

One by one the guards swap around. Changbin assumes that’s to make it harder to sneak in; pretty clever. They’ll find a way, though. He’s been on enough missions to know no system is infallible.

His com hisses on and J.One’s voice filters through.  _ “They change one-by-one. Like dominoes.” _

_ “Yes,”  _ CB agrees.  _ “Doors or gate?” _

_ “Gate,”  _ Changbin confirms, speaking in a low whisper. The crowd flows around him, unaware about the stranger in their midst.

_ “Not enough time,”  _ J.One sighs.  _ “Distraction, then? At night?” _

_ “Night,”  _ CB says.  _ “Alright. Group back.” _

The com shuts with a whisper of static and Changbin starts making his way back to their lodgings, spotting J.One doing the same. They enter the building at different times; J.One first, then CB, and finally Changbin heads in, having pulled down his mask a little to appear more casual. The receptionist scans his card with a blank face and waves him away. He’s all too happy to head back.

CB and J.One are already there, talking in hushed voices. Changbin locks the door behind him and pulls off his windbreaker, tugging his mask all the way down. He sets his weapons carefully on the counter.

“Tonight?” he asks, sitting next to Jisung.

“Not yet,” Chan says. “We’ll want pictures of the interior first.”

Changbin nods, thinking back to the layout of the streets. “There’s an old brick building I don’t think people really use anymore; there?”

“Maybe,” Chan says.

“I saw a complex with a radiator on top,” Jisung says. “Might be better?”

“Could be,” Changbin says. Radiators were always good hiding spots. “There’s an apothecary really close to the mansion that I could use.”

“Hm,” Chan says. “B, try J’s complex. J, go for the abandoned building. What did they look like?”

“The complex is big,” Jisung says promptly. “There’s a blue garbage bin nearby. The walls have faded posters. There’s a fence behind it.”

“Abandoned building has a door hanging off the hinges,” Changbin says. “There’s a side door as well with a hole in it. Looked like there was a staircase inside you could use. A black garbage bin is near the back.”

“I’ll take apothecary,” Chan says. “B?”

“Faded sign with a flower,” Changbin says. “Green pennant on the door. Boxes stacked near the side. Low-hanging roof with a chimney.”

“Good,” Chan says. “Get some rest. Jisung, you need to drop?”

“That’d be nice,” Jisung says.

Changbin heads towards the bathroom instead of watching Chan drop Jisung. He strips himself of his clothes and steps into the shower. The water is cold, lukewarm at best, but such is life.

For a moment he lets himself relax, running a hand through his hair. He hasn’t gotten to wash it in a while so he gladly takes the chance to, squeezing some shampoo into his hands and scrubbing it into his head. Water runs down his cheek, a tingling feeling. Exhaustion is replacing the energy of being on a mission, weighing him down.

Jisung is kneeling at the foot of the bed when Changbin steps out, towel around his waist. Changbin crouches down next to him, pushing Jisung’s bangs out of his face. “You good?” he murmurs quietly.

Jisung looks at him, eyes hazy. “Yeah,” he slurs softly. “S’all good, Bin. You?”

Changbin doesn’t acknowledge the nickname and simply brushes a hand over Jisung’s knuckles. “I’ll be okay. Don’t worry.”

Jisung nods, mouth stretching into a squirrel-like smile and swaying a bit towards Changbin. “I know,” he says. “Go chaange.”

Changbin nods and stands back up, heading towards the closet. They all wear basically the same clothes (except for Jisung, with his odd love of red clothing) and he grabs some random black t-shirt and jeans. The denim feels a little weird on his skin. Jeans are rarely ever worn, especially when he’s working.

“Everything alright?” Chan asks, walking in. The door clicks shut. “Jisung?”

“Channie,” Jisung says, giggling a little. “You’re back?”

“Yeah,” Chan says, eyes soft. “You’re doing well, Jisung. I’m proud.”

Jisung practically beams, eyes glowing. Changbin goes towards the bed and sits there, crossing his legs. It’s moments like these that make him feel lucky  and a little jealous , watching as Jisung gladly accepts a spoonful of rice. They still have some time to kill, though, so he slides off and rummages under the mattress until he finds the folder (still in good condition somehow) and pulls out the papers.

**Hwang Hyunjin,** the first page he grabs reads. The other male is surprisingly handsome. Changbin quickly runs through the information presented.

**Status: Switch**

**Skillset: Interrogation, languages, hand-to-hand combat (Xingyiquan)**

**Age: ~20**

**Height: Unknown**

**Weight: Unknown**

**Position: Co-Leader**

The page underneath Hwang’s is  **Yang Jeongin** ’s. Changbin smoothes it out delicately.

**Yang Jeongin**

**Status: Unknown**

**Skillset: Hand-to-hand combat (Baguazhang)**

**Age: ~20**

**Height: Unknown**

**Weight: Unknown**

**Position: Co-Leader**

Yang Jeongin’s picture is extremely blurry. Changbin is barely able to make out what looks like an earring and maybe a knife. The lack of information is a little disturbing.

“Do we know anything about the whole group?” he asks. Chan looks up from where he’s brewing what looks like tea.

“I never said this, but it appears they have control of a huge part of South Allesia and are looking towards North Allesia.”

Changbin nods, deciding not to ask how Chan got that information. That meant that the leaders were far more dangerous and influential than he’d thought. If they pulled this off, they’d potentially save their home and likely destabilise an entire country.

If they didn’t… well, they’d be swallowing poison in a way that was quite literal.

But that didn’t matter. His job was to do the killing and everything else would be taken care of. 

He both loves and hates the downtime between missions. On one hand, he’s not doing anything. On the other hand,  _ he’s not doing anything _ . It’s so easy to be tired without the energy of a mission running through his veins. Watching Chan sit next to Jisung, humming an odd tune, doesn’t help.

Changbin just wants to sleep or rest but at the same time he wants to move, scream. Honestly, at this point he’s not sure. 

He settles for practicing his forms, careful not to hit Chan and Jisung. Changbin slides into a horse stance, breathing steadily. He’ll stay there for maybe an hour or so.

An hour later, when the sheer boredom is a bit too much to bear, he moves. His hands curl into a fist, palm pointed upwards, and he strikes outwards. Jisung, who by now had come up, joins him, settling into horse stance opposite him and meeting his strikes with open hands. Changbin holds out open hands and lets Jisung practice striking as well, alternating between hitting and getting hit. Next to them, Chan is moving between different taijiquan steps, letting his hand fly in a graceful single whip. 

Joint locks, Tiger Claw, Crane’s Beak. Changbin, holding onto a bag stuffed with two pillows, watches as Jisung kicks it viciously and then stabs it fiercely with a Crane’s Beak. A powerful punch follows suit and then grabs the sash tied around the bag, twisting it and then striking downwards. Jisung takes the bag next and Changbin strikes it once, twice, vertically and horizontally. He kicks, grabs the sash and pulls harshly. Beads of sweat roll down his neck but Changbin really couldn’t care less, caught up in the adrenaline.

They finally stop when the sun starts setting, breathing heavily. Changbin rolls his shoulders, wincing a little. There might or might not be a bruise there. Chan sits heavily on the floor. Jisung goes a step further, lying down. Changbin dumps the pillows back onto the bed and tosses the empty bag onto the counter.

“Dinner?”

“Yeah,” Jisung agrees, looking towards Chan.

“Dinner,” Chan sighs, wiping his forehead.

Dinner is usually something they skip, but it looks like tonight is an exception. Chan stirs noodles in a boiling kettle while Changbin slices up frozen cucumbers and carrots. Jisung pulls out a packet of homemade jerky and starts ripping the pieces into small strips. 

The vegetables go in and Chan tosses in some spice, for good measure. Jisung passes Changbin the jerky, who passes it to Chan, who dumps it in the kettle and keeps stirring.

The portions are relatively small, but they’ve gone for longer on less and it’s surprisingly good. Jisung slurps up the noodles, wiggling his eyebrows teasingly when Chan gives him a  _ look _ . Changbin chews steadily on a piece of jerky, staring at the floor.

“Is it time?” Jisung asks when they’ve finished eating. Chan throws his bowl out and nods.

“We’ll shower quickly and then move. You first, J.”

Changbin leans back on his hands as the shower starts up. Pre-mission anticipation has started to settle in, as always. It’s a welcome distraction from the constant exhaustion of nothing.

Jisung steps out, wearing mission clothes, and grabs his jacket. Chan goes into the bathroom, leaving Changbin alone. He pushes himself up and heads towards the closet, grabbing his mission clothing and heading back to wait.

Chan is done soon and Changbin goes in last, shedding his casual wear and stepping into the shower. He scrubs himself down quickly, glad to be rid of the smell of sweat, then steps out and pulls on his gear. 

Chan and Jisung are standing near the counter. Changbin joins them, grabbing his weaponry. Chan passes them both their coms, cameras, and a granola bar. Changbin attaches the camera onto the zipper of his jacket and clips on his com, ripping the bar wrapper open with his teeth. It tastes like raisins and honey. Gross, in his opinion, but it’ll give him an extra boost of energy.

“Remember what to do?” Chan asks through a bite of granola. Changbin and Jisung nod in unison.

“Good.” Chan swallows and throws the wrapper out; they follow suit. “For the monarch.”

“For the monarch.”

“For the monarch.”

“Let’s move.”

The hotel hallway is near void of people as they walk out. A drunk lady stumbles into them while they’re in the lobby. “You three are handsome,” she coos. “Whereever are you goi-ing?”

Jisung, bless his heart, saves the day with his squirrely smile. “Just a nighttime stroll,” he says. “There’s a little forest nearby we wanted to check out.”

There is, in fact, a forest nearby that none of them wanted to check out.

“Ah, the forest,” the lady says, giggling. “Be careful! Wouldn’t want a handsome fellow like you to get injured!”

“Of course not, ma’am,” Jisung says, charming as ever. The lady laughs.

“So polite,” she coos. “Well, I’ll be on my way now. Have a nice stroll!”

“We will!”

Even with it being rather late, the streets still have crowds. Changbin slips between groups of people, moving quickly and trusting his smaller frame to hide him. J.One is moving slower, half covered in shadows and CB is nowhere to be seen, likely somewhere behind them. As much as being tall would be nice, it was in these moments that Changbin was glad he was short.

He turns left and heads towards the complex J.One had been talking about, weaving between groups of people. It would be strange if he just marched towards it so he drifts closer, ducking quickly into the alleyway when he’s close and crouching behind the blue bin. No one is staring, so Changbin keeps moving, heading towards the fence. He slips his feet between the loopholes and starts climbing.

There are several boards of wood tacked onto the wall and he grabs them, pulling himself up to stand properly and reaching up to grab the rain gutter. Changbin takes a deep breath and heaves, pulling himself up onto the roof. The radiator up top provides good cover and he crouches behind it, melting into the shadows.

From the roof, Changbin can see the complex and its interior. He snaps a quick picture, noting the multiple windows. There appeared to be a back gate as well. Changbin turns a little and takes another picture, then one more for good measure. A hiss of static sounds in his ear.

_ “Got pictures.” _

J.One.

_ “Same. B?” _

_ “Done.” _

_ “Good. I’ve been watching the guards. Looks like there’s sixteen. B, confirm?” _

Changbin does a quick headcount. Sixteen.  _ “Sixteen.” _

_ “They move in pairs,”  _ J.One says. 

_ “Good observation,”  _ CB says.  _ “Looks like they’re pretty thorough. Any blind spots, alternate points of entry?” _

_ “There’s a back gate,”  _ Changbin says.  _ “Might not be visible on your side. Got a pic of it, though.” _

_ “There’s one spot where the fence juts out, maybe we could hide there?” _

_ “I see it, but opposite sides,”  _ CB says.  _ “Alright. Take a few more pictures and then head back. Meet up near that neon-lit building with a crowd in front of it.” _

The com fizzles off. Changbin snaps a shot of the gate and then a few shots with the guards in different locations. One last shot, he thinks, readying the camera when suddenly the mansion door opens and a person steps out.

Changbin can’t really see who it is from this range. Maybe CB? He takes a photo anyway. They’ll be able to zoom in when they transfer the pictures. It’s probably just some underling, but who knows.

As he watches, the person walks off towards the back gate. Changbin quickly snaps a shot right as the gate is open, wondering what it leads to. Probably just another street.

His job here is probably done. Changbin watches the alleyway beneath him. A person stumbles in and starts throwing up. Another person walks in and rubs their back soothingly. 

Changbin has only been here for several days, but already South Allesia feels incredibly different from North Allesia. This sort of public indecency would be very frowned upon. The person rubbing the other person’s back would probably be laughing instead.

He watches as the duo finally walk out of the alley. Changbin checks to see that no one else is coming, then quickly slips towards the edge and swings down, slotting his feet delicately into the holes of the fence and climbing down quickly, striding out of the alleyway. One lesson he’s learned from the years of training; if you walk out of somewhere suspicious looking like you were always meant to be there, you’ll be fine. People won’t question confidence.

Changbin melts in with a crowd of laughing partygoers and makes his way towards the neon-lit building. He can spot CB and J.One standing casually next to each other, faces cast in shadow. Changbin joins them, dodging a randomly thrown beer can and walking up next to J.One. Wordlessly, they head back to the hotel.

The receptionist looks up as they enter the lobby. “Back from your walk?” she says, sounding entirely uninterested.

“Yes,” J.One says, easily slipping into a cheerful persona. “It was fun!”

“Hm,” the receptionist says, waving them through after scanning their cards. Changbin trails patiently after CB and J.One, flicking a quick look towards the clock hanging off the wall. 11:43. Not too late, at least for them.

Chan flicks on the light as they troop in, illuminating the room in flickering yellow. Jisung locks the door behind them. Changbin unclips his com and camera, setting them down. Jisung brushes past him, forgoing removing his equipment and just flopping down on the bed.

“Pass your camera, Jisung,” Chan says, holding out a hand. The other two were already plugged in. Changbin sets his weapons down and throws his jacket on top of Chan’s, sitting next to Jisung. Chan takes a seat next to Changbin, waiting for the pictures to upload. 

“That’s a good shot,” Jisung comments, pointing to one of Chan’s pictures. It really is. The white brick of the mansion is outlined starkly against the night sky, windows glowing with a golden light. Changbin reaches over to zoom it in, trying to spot any security cameras. There appeared to be some mounted on the large columns and the inside of the fence. The jutting fence Jisung mentioned was probably covered, which removed a hiding spot.

The next images are some with different guard positions, which Chan writes down, then Changbin’s pictures come up. He makes note of more security cameras mounted on the pillars and inside the fence; looked like they’d covered basically all blind spots.

“What does that lead to?” Jisung asks, pointing to Changbin’s shot of the open back gate. Chan zooms in closely, peering at the image.

“Looks like garbage disposal. Think that alleyway is accessible from somewhere?”

“Should be,” Changbin says.

“Check that, J.”

“Aww.”

Changbin leans forwards a bit to zoom in further, focusing this time on the person leaving. It was a shot of the back, but he could make out what looked to be half of a circle and some messily drawn lines. Recognition tattoo, probably.

“It is accessible,” Jisung says. “From here.” He points to a street on the map highlighted in blue.  **Levanter Street** , the label reads. “We can get there through Miroh Street.”

“Good job,” Chan says. “We’ll draw a layout of the mansion, access streets included, then that’ll be all.”

“Will we start tomorrow?” Changbin asks.

“We’ll see,” Chan says. “It’s pretty heavily guarded, so we’ll want a good plan first. Grab a piece of paper and let’s get drawing.”

  
  
  
  


It’s close to 12:45 PM when they finally go to sleep. Jisung pulls Changbin closer, flinging an arm around his waist. Chan huffs out a breath of what might be considered laughter and curls up on Changbin’s other side, lacing his fingers together with Jisung’s on top of Changbin’s waist. Changbin shifts around a bit so he isn’t completely squashed and watches the silver beam of moonlight dancing on the ratty pillow.   
  


South Allesia is strange and dirty. The sheets they’re lying under feel rough on his skin. The people don’t seem to care about order or being proper.

By contrast, North Allesia is a land carved out of clean marble and cobblestone. Everything is neat and elegant and orderly. 

Changbin knows how to feel. He should be disgusted. Eager to get out of South Allesia and into the beautiful cleanliness of North Allesia. Somehow, he’s just not sure. South Allesia is wild and open with its secrets, while North Allesia hides mysteries in every little carved butterfly.

His eyes feel fuzzy and he’s exhausted but so awake at the same time and here he is, he thinks dryly, an assassin ruminating about the philosophical differences between two countries at midnight. 

Minute by minute, the clock ticks forwards. Changbin manages to finally fall asleep sometime around 1:22.


	2. Cypress Strewn About your Grave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it seems like some people like this odd story I have pirated? Huh. :)
> 
> Whenever I look at the titles of my chapters I always cringe, because they feel so edgy. But, as those who have read the first chapter or the tags will know, flowers are a big part of this story. Why, you may ask? Because dumb brain go 'FLOWER', that's why. 
> 
> This chapter is mostly for two things. One, to introduce you to our antagonist and our other protagonists. Two, to fill in space while the 3Racha assassin trio work.
> 
> Contains: mentions of unethical experimentation.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -Jay

“We’ve arrived, Sir.”

Minho shakes himself awake, yawns. Stretches, wincing at the crack when he arches his spine. “Thank you,” he says, setting down a handful of gold coins. “Keep the change.”

The driver stares, wide-eyed. “Sir - ”

“Keep it,” Minho says firmly, opening the door. “Have a nice day.”

He slides out of the car and closes the door. North Allesia is, as always, pristine. The neatly paved road stretches out into the distance. Walking towards him is a trio of guards, wearing identical suits with matching steps and the same blank face. It never fails to unsettle him.

“Welcome to North Allesia,” the middle one says once they reach him, plastering on a wide smile. “We are pleased to welcome you to our humble country.”

“I am pleased to be here,” Minho says, lying through his teeth. 

“Please step this way,” the middle guard says, extending a hand. Minho accepts it and lets the guards escort him up the road towards the palace. He takes a look around. The country spread out in front of him should be beautiful, but Minho can’t help but think it looks rather sterile. The perfectly white tiled road, the houses all arranged in neat little rows, the flowers all growing in the same patterns. It’s repetitive. Monotone, even with the bright shades.

The palace looms ahead in the distance, pale marble and glittering gold stark against the blue sky. The towers are perfectly symmetrical. A drawbridge made of pristine looking wood is attached to the palace with taut silver chains. Trumpet and wisteria vines grow on white wooden trellises next to oddly still pools of water. Minho can make out the shadow of a fish but that’s about it. 

The guards lead Minho up to the palace doors and inside the very building itself. The interior hasn’t changed one bit since he’d last been to North Allesia: blue vases with blooming moth orchids, violets, and pale magnolias lining the halls, blue carpeting, white walls with gold lining. A servant walks by, wearing a plain white tunic and pants, and offers to take Minho’s jacket. He declines politely.

As with last time, the Butterfly Monarch is seated in the throne room, smiling down at Minho. “Lee Minho,” he greets, standing up with a swirl of perfectly pressed blue robes. Minho wonders how his crown - a jewel-adorned circlet with beaded strings falling down the side - stays on. “A pleasure.”

“To you as well,” Minho says, bowing his head. The Monarch smiles wider and descends the steps, holding out a hand.

“Shall we?”

Wordlessly, Minho takes it and walks with the Monarch to another room. Inside is a round white table with blue mats and a gold tea set already placed upon it. Wide windows let sunlight spill into the room. Neatly trimmed bonsai trees are set in each corner. Minho can’t help but notice that they all look the same.

“Stand outside,” the Monarch commands the guards, dismissing them with a flick of his hand. “Come, Lee Minho. Do sit.”

By all account, the Butterfly Monarch shouldn’t have been a threat. He looked delicate, fragile almost, with pale porcelain skin and silken blue robes like the wings of a butterfly. Minho highly doubted someone like him had fought a day in his life.

But if the guards were unnerving, with their matching footsteps and facial expressions, the Monarch with his smile and cold eyes was even more so.

Minho sits on his knees opposite the Monarch, almost kneeling. The cups, he notes, are made of smooth white china, perfectly round with no chips or cracks. The tea is an unnatural honey-gold, oddly still. The Monarch drops one perfectly shaped sugar cube into his cup and stirs slowly with a golden spoon, smiling all the while. Minho decides not to drink, knowing full well that the Monarch would be perfectly willing to poison him.

“Won’t you drink?” he asks, smiling that overly-wide smile. His eyes are like chips of obsidian: cold and unfeeling. “You are our guest. It is only proper that you should. Cherry tea is especially loved this season.”

Likely poison. The sugar probably contained an antidote but Minho decides not to chance it.

And then the Monarch smiles impossibly wide, almost predatory, and takes a sip of his tea and Minho simply smiles back, hoping his anxiety doesn’t show on his face and answers, “I feel a little under-the-weather today. My apologies.”

The Monarch simply tilts his head, still smiling. “How unfortunate.” He didn’t look very sorry. Out of nowhere, he produces a flower and offers it to Minho. “Take this, as consolation. I know your country doesn’t have many plants like these. A shame.”

What a polite way, he thinks, to insult someone. Minho bites back a retort and gingerly accepts the flowers. It’s a poppy, petals a vibrant red. He tucks it into his pocket and makes a note to dump it into the compost bin later.

“The alliance is still in place, I assume?” the Monarch says, setting the teacup down. 

“Of course,” Minho says, lacing his fingers together and meeting the Monarch’s smile with one of his own. 

“Good, good,” the Monarch says, producing a scroll out of nowhere. “In that case, please sign.”

Minho takes the offered scroll and unravels it, scanning the contract carefully. He wouldn’t put it past the Monarch to try and sneak something past him. Everything seems good, thankfully, so he sets the scroll down.

“Do you have a pen?”

The Monarch smiles. “Why yes!” A pen appears in his hands, made out of what looked like wood. Minho takes it. Silver cypress flowers are carved into the pen, funnily enough. He uncaps it and scrawls his signature on the smooth paper.

“Perfect,” the Monarch says, smiling wider. Minho caps the pen and slides it - and the scroll - over.

“Your turn.”

“Of course,” the Monarch says, uncapping the pen and signing his signature on the paper with a flourish. “Well, now that that’s over, would you like a tour of our gardens? I know you’re something of a botany lover.”

It wasn’t so much botany as it was poison, Minho thought, but he smiles anyway and says, “If it wouldn’t trouble you.”

“Always so polite,” the Monarch chuckles. The sound feels vaguely menacing. “Even on your deathbed, you’d probably be showing courtesy; but I shouldn’t be so morbid. Come, come! Let’s walk.”

Together, they walk out. With a gesture, the guards standing outside the door join their little troupe and they head to the back of the palace. The guards open the doors.

“Beautiful, aren’t they,” the Monarch says. Minho can hear the satisfied smile. 

As much as he dislikes North Allesia, he has to admit that the garden is beautiful in a way. A large pond lies in the middle, with a bench to the side and water lilies floating on top. Trellises are arranged neatly on one side of the garden, with blue wisteria, black-eyed susans, and white jasmine vines in full bloom. Flowering cherry, pear, and evergreen trees surround the rest of the garden. Vibrantly coloured flowers grow beneath the trees: rows of pink foxglove and magenta rhododendrons, budding yellow daffodils, clusters of blue hydrangeas, bushels of baby’s breath.

“This way, Lee Minho,” the Monarch says, walking down a snaking white pathway. “I do hope you are enjoying your stay so far. The palace gardens are the most beautiful part of our noble country; though, of course, there is beauty everywhere here.”

It’s funny, Minho thinks dryly. If he was anywhere but North Allesia and with anyone but the Monarch, this might have just been a relaxing stroll through a garden. 

“I was always… interested in you, you know,” the Monarch sighs, not seeming to care about Minho’s silence. “You rule your country in a rather unorthodox way, yet you still make it work.”

“I suppose we’re just different,” Minho says lightly. 

“I suppose,” the Monarch says agreeably. “Have you considered my offer yet? North Allesia has much to give. Uniting the North and South would make you even more powerful and bring prosperity to our two nations.”

“Once again, my answer is no,” Minho says. 

“Ah, a shame,” the Monarch sighs. He reaches out and delicately plucks a cluster of flowers from the ground. “Do consider it, Lee Minho. I would be delighted if you accepted.”

“I will,” Minho says, lying through his teeth. He accepts the proffered flowers. Rhododendrons. They smell sickly sweet, a sharp contrast to the gentle lavender hue. The Monarch smiles even wider, teeth bared in a way that was borderline sinister.

“Wonderful. I’m sure you shall come to realize in no time that I only mean good.”

Minho chooses not to reply to that.

  
  
  
  
  


“You’re back!”

Felix.

Minho spins around, smiling, as the younger hugs him tightly. “How was the North? Did you meet the Monarch?”

“I did,” Minho says, laughing. “Come on, Lixie. I want to see everyone else, too.”

Felix grabs Minho’s hand and pulls him towards the door at the end of the hall, throwing it open with a loud thud. “Guys! He’s back!”

Three people look up at the same time. Seungmin, one arm curled around a formerly sleeping Jeongin’s shoulders, gives Felix a disparaging look. Hyunjin jumps up from the bed, grinning. Jeongin yawns widely and blinks up at Minho. The dangling violet pendant glitters under the light.

“Sorry, Innie,” Felix says, still beaming as he tugs Minho forwards. He kicks the door closed. “Tell us about the North! You never let us go with you.”

“I’ve been to the North,” Seungmin points out, running fingers through Jeongin’s hair. 

“You were there illegally, it doesn’t count,” Hyunjin says, rolling his eyes. “Come on, sit! Tell us what happened.”

“In a moment,” Minho says, reaching up and ruffling Hyunjin’s hair. The younger squawks in indignation. “Let me take off my jacket first, Jinnie.” He pulls the sash out and drops it on the bed, then tosses the jacket in the general direction of the closet. The wilting poppy flower peeks out from the pocket, fading red against dark brown. 

“How was your trip?” Jeongin asks, sitting up. “You were there to meet the Butterfly Monarch, right?”

“Yep,” Minho says, popping the P. He sits down next to Seungmin. “The trip was fine.”

“What’s North Allesia like?” 

“Who is the Butterfly Monarch, actually?”

“Well,” Minho says, “North Allesia is…. neat.”

“That’s it?” 

“There’s not much other way to put it, Lix,” Minho says. “It’s orderly, I guess. There’s cobblestone pathways and neat little brick houses and everyone walks like they’re on eggshells.”

“It’s despicable,” Seungmin snorts. “Order, cleanliness, whatever. The North is like a poisonous flower; you think it’s pretty until you’re choking to death.”

“Why do you always tell us to clean our rooms then, Minnie?” Hyunjin teases. Felix snickers.

“Because I don’t want to live in your piles of laundry,” Seungmin retorts. “You always leave knives where someone could trip and cut themselves. I’ve had multiple complaints about it already.”

“Don’t be mean, Minnie,” Minho says, reaching over to shove him down teasingly. “If someone trips and cuts themselves, that’s their fault anyway.”

Seungmin just sighs, shrugging Minho off and sitting back up. “I’m serious about the North, though. I escaped for a reason and I never want to go there ever again.”

“What about the Butterfly Monarch?” Felix asks curiously. “Does he really have wings, Minnie? Minho?”

“Never seen him,” Seungmin says bluntly. “Don’t care too, either.”

“Minho?”

“The Butterfly Monarch doesn’t just have wings,” Minho says, leaning in for dramatic emphasis. “He’s an actual butterfly, with giant pearly blue wings and black antenna. And guess what?”

“What?” Hyunjin whisper-yells. Even Seungmin leans closer, curious.

“He has sixteen eyes,” Minho says, waving his arms dramatically, “and huge legs, as wide as my wrist. And when the full moon comes he turns into a wolf with giant floppy ears and chases fireflies around the royal gardens.”

“You’re joking,” Felix breathes, eyes wide. 

Minho stares straight at Felix, face blank. “Am I?” he whispers.

“He’s joking,” Seungmin says flatly, bringing them both back down to earth. 

“Ohh,” Felix says, leaning back. “That’s disappointing. I wanted to see a giant butterfly.”

“Butterflies creep me out sometimes,” Hyunjin says, shuddering and falling back dramatically. “They suck the blood out of flowers! They’re, like, plant vampires.”

“All bugs are plant vampires, Jinnie,” Felix says. “You know what should really scare you? Mosquitoes. Those are the real vampires. Other than bats, of course.”

“Vampires are fictional,” Jeongin says sleepily, head pillowed in Seungmin’s lap. “And so are mosquitoes.”

“Lixie and Jinnie are idiots,” Seungmin says affectionately, smiling that smile only Jeongin had the pleasure of receiving. “Mosquitoes are real, though. You’ve been bitten by one before.”

“Oh yeah,” Jeongin says, scrunching up his nose cutely. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“Go to sleep, Innie,” Minho says. “You’re probably just tired.”

Jeongin yawns and shifts to curl up next to Seungmin. “Yeah,” he says. “Been doing a lot of work lately.”

“Then get some sleep,” Seungmin says, pulling several blankets over Jeongin’s torso and arranging some pillows under his head. “You deserve it.” 

“Whipped,” Hyunjin and Felix mouth at the exact same time, snickering when Seungmin gives them a grumpy look. Minho leans back on his hands and just watches, smiling.

“Seriously, though,” Hyunjin says. “What does the Butterfly Monarch look like?”

“He’s a middle-aged man,” Minho replies, “who wears blue silk robes. He has a crown made of precious jewels with beaded strings hanging down the sides, like a headdress. He’s tall and willowy and delicate-looking, which is pretty appropriate.”

“I heard he hides poisonous daggers in his sleeves,” Felix pipes up. 

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Hyunjin says. 

Minho doesn’t answer, thinking back to his trip. He’d never quite liked the cleanliness of North Allesia: the beauty just bordering on sterile, the way everyone moved and talked and smiled just on the edge of being creepy. This trip had only further reinforced that. 

“What’re you thinking about?” Seungmin asks quietly, tapping Minho’s arm lightly. Jeongin makes a sleepy noise and burrows deeper into the pillows.

“My meeting,” Minho responds. He reaches into his pocket and produces the crushed cluster of rhododendrons. The colour was fading and the leaves were drooping.

“He gave you a flower?” Felix asks, reaching over to poke the petals lightly. One flutters off and lands delicately on the bed sheets. Minho brushes it down onto the floor. “Why?”

Rhododendron nectar was a powerful emetic poison. It was rarely fatal, especially to humans, and usually only lasted about a day.

“It’s a rhododendron, right?” Hyunjin says, peering at it curiously. 

“Yes,” Minho says, plucking a leaf and dropping it onto Felix’s head. Hyunjin snickers as Felix brushes it off, pouting unhappily. Seungmin sighs in the background.

But the poison wasn’t what mattered. Rhododendrons were a symbol of danger. It was a threat.

  
  
  
  


“There’s something odd going on,” Jeongin says one day. Minho leans back on his chair to look at him.

“Elaborate?”

“I was checking cameras one day,” Jeongin says, walking closer and sitting down. “There’s some inconsistencies in the footage but I caught a few glimpses of something black. I took still shots; here.”

Minho takes the pictures and flips through them. It looked like the edge of something oval-shaped. 

“That’s either a head or a camera glitch,” he says. The rhododendron, sitting on his table, almost seems to mock him. “And I’m willing to bet it’s a head.”

“There’s more,” Jeongin says. “I talked to some guards today. They reported having been knocked out by unseen forces. Either there’s some supernatural creature among us or an assassin.”

The Monarch’s flower.

“Why didn’t they tell any of us?” he asks. “This should have been brought to attention sooner.”

“I asked,” Jeongin says. “The duo on guard said they scouted the area before and after, but nothing seemed wrong. They did, at least, report to medical.”

“I’m guessing that’s how you found out,” Minho sighs. “Well, move those guards to the interior yard and move some better ones to the back door. Give them a firm talk, too. Is Seungmin on the case yet?”

“Got it,” Jeongin says, standing up. “Oh - yeah, Minnie’s on the case.” A smile crosses Jeongin’s face for a moment and he reaches up to lightly brush Seungmin’s ribbon around his neck. 

They’re so ridiculously cute, Minho thinks fondly. It warms his cold dead heart, just a little.

Jeongin leaves and Minho turns back to the reports, flipping through them absently. He sets them down on his desk and leans back, staring at the dying rhododendron.

Normally, he wouldn’t be too concerned. His group is well-trained to deal with these sorts of threats. Minho himself is an expert in combat and so are Hyunjin, Felix, Seungmin, and Jeongin. But Minho knows that, no matter how frail he may seem, the Monarch was feared for a reason.

He should tell Seungmin, he realizes.

Minho pushes his chair back and stands up, striding out of his office and down the hall towards where Seungmin works. The person in question is curled up on his office chair, reverse-searching an image. 

“Minnie,” Minho calls out, tapping the back of Seungmin’s chair. “I have something to tell you.”

“Something positive, I hope,” Seungmin sighs, spinning around. 

“Depends on how you view it,” Minho says. “Good news: I think we might be able to narrow the possibilities down.”

“Bad news?” 

“There’s definitely an assassin after us,” Minho says. 

“Might be assassins,” Seungmin says, rubbing his eyes. The morning glory charm sways with the motion; Minho remembers sitting with Jeongin and helping him carve out the flower. He doesn’t think he’s seen Seungmin or Jeongin without their respective ribbons. “I found two shots of what looks a bit like feet and compared the sizes. They’re different.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Minho says, flopping down onto a side table. “I’m pretty sure it’s the Butterfly Monarch who sent them.”

Seungmin stares.

“I thought you two had a friendly relationship?”

“Friendly is pushing it,” Minho snorts. “He gave me a rhododendron flower.”

“Rhododendrons…” Seungmin muses. “I don’t remember any of the flower language, honestly, except for stuff like violets for loyalty or devotion or something. It was pretty stupid anyway.”

“It’s a threat,” Minho says simply. “Also an emetic poison, but that doesn’t matter.”

“So you think the Butterfly Monarch sent a group of assassins after you… because he gave you a flower,” Seungmin says slowly, frowning. “You sure, Minho? They could be unconnected.”

“I doubt it,” Minho says, leaning back on his hands. “You know North Allesia and their flowers.”

“Damn right I do,” Seungmin snorts. “Alright. I’ll trust your instincts on this one, Minho.”

“Thanks, Min,” Minho says, standing up. A stray paper flutters down to the ground. “I’ll leave you to it.”

  
  
  


There’s a knock on his door. Minho spins around in his chair, feeling the comforting weight of a knife hidden beneath his shirt. It’s probably just someone coming to tell him something, but with Jeongin’s news and the Monarch’s threat it didn’t hurt to be cautious.

“Come in,” he says.

The door opens and Seungmin steps in, a folder tucked under his arm. “Here you are,” he says, kicking the door shut and striding over to set the folder down. “I got as much information as I could. Some of it is pretty gruesome, but it’s the Monarch we’re talking about.”

“Wonderful,” Minho says, opening the folder and dumping the contents out on his desk. Seungmin winces out of the corner of his eye and moves some papers out of the way. 

“You should keep your desk more organized.”

Minho snickers and purposefully taps the rhododendron flower, watching as petals fall down onto the dark wood. Seungmin sighs and sweeps them off, crushing them in his fist and letting the dust fall into a nearby trash can.

“Relax, Minnie,” Minho says. “It’s not much to worry about.”

“Say that when you’re struggling to find everything beneath a mountain of papers,” Seungmin mutters but he relents. “Anyways. Take a look.”

Minho sobers up, turning to the mess of papers on his desk and shuffling them haphazardly into a pile. He picks up the first page. 

  1. **B006YT**



**Log 1**

**13:87:5.6**

**Subjects: Zhao Li Ping, Deng Xiao Zhen**

**Testers: Yamada Taeko, Ruto Oka**

**Subject 1 symptoms:**

**\- Internal bleeding**

**\- Nausea**

**\- Auditory hallucinations**

“What the - ”

“I told you,” Seungmin says. “Like I said, gruesome. These all seem to be dated pretty far back.”

“I’m sorry,” Minho states, staring down at the offending piece of paper. “What the everloving shitfuck is he doing?”

“Experiments, probably,” Seungmin says, plucking the paper out of Minho’s hands and setting it delicately to the side. “Let’s just keep looking.”

Minho takes one look at the second page, sees the header  **OP. ROI970** and sets it to the side as well. The third page, thankfully, doesn’t seem to be another ‘experiment’ of the Monarch’s. Instead, it’s titled  **Mission Failure** .

**Mission Failure: OP. IU098O**

**Team: Swallowtail**

**Survivors: Rio Yui**

**Deceased: Kim Do Yoon, Wang Zhe Ren, Han Jin Young**

**Team to be retired. Survivor sent to Room 101.**

That takes away one option.

“Do I want to know what Room 101 is?”

“Probably not. I heard tales of that place back when I was… you know. Exaggeration or not, they probably hold some element of truth.”

“Good point.”

The rest of the  **Mission Failure** pages list off a few different teams: gossamer, adonis, holly. Minho sets aside another page detailing an experiment on what he assumes are lab rats and pauses when he comes across a page titled  **Threat Level** .

**Threat Level**

**N/A:**

**\- Team Adonis**

**\- Team Gossamer**

**\- Team Meadow**

**\- Team North**

**\- Team Swallowtail**

The page cuts off after a bit. Minho flips through the rest of them, scanning for another one. 

“Where’s the rest?”

“Couldn’t find it without risking being discovered,” Seungmin says. “Do you think any of them are our assassin or assassins?”

“I don’t know,” Minho sighs, setting aside the  **Threat Level** page. “Do you?”

“Can’t rule out anything,” Seungmin points out. “Except for the ‘retired’ ones, I guess.”

“You really think the Monarch would send a threat level A assassin after me? Really?”

“Don’t get cocky there,” Seungmin says, hitting Minho lightly over the head. Anyone else doing that would be sternly reprimanded but, well. Seungmin, Jeongin, Hyunjin, and Felix are special. 

“But,” Seungmin continues, “you have a point.”

“Ah, so you admit I’m right,” Minho says, ducking the resulting swat with a laugh.

“If the Monarch was, theoretically, trying to eliminate you,” Seungmin says, “he probably wouldn’t send a weak team to the most secure place in South Allesia. Maybe level D or E, but A?”

“Let’s not rule anything out, though,” Minho says, setting the threat level page on top of the Mission Failure one. 

“Now you’re acknowledging that I’m right,” Seungmin mutters unhappily. Minho snickers under his breath and picks out a paper titled  **Clearance** .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I had to research all those flowers. No, Google, I'm not a botanist.
> 
> Also: ribbons.


	3. One For Sorrow, Two For Mirth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry about how late this chapter is. I was swamped with work during these past few weeks and had to focus on my other story. But now, I can finally post this chapter.
> 
> I'm not a dancer, so please don't come at me for accuracy. I tried to make it kind of accurate, I guess? Sorry about that.
> 
> CW//torture, suicide mentions, self-harm mention
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -Jay

“Pass the eyeshadow?”

Changbin carefully applies the last bit of gloss to his lips and slides the eyeshadow over. Chan plucks the gloss out of his hands and hands him an eyeliner pen.

It’s Jisung’s birthday today. Well, maybe not. It’s the anniversary of Jisung joining them and that’s what matters more. So, while they’re waiting for any potential suspicion to die down, they’re going to celebrate his birthday in the proper North way.

A dance.

Jisung’s favourite one is the Blooming Aster, so that’s what they’re going to do. It’s quite the complex dance, with a lot of intricate steps and quick movements, but Changbin has been practicing the dances since he was in the Monarch’s care. The steps are practically embedded into his feet.

He sets the eyeliner pen down and stands up, inspecting his work. The glitter is a little uneven around one of his eyes and he dabs on a bit more, evening it out. Personally, Changbin isn’t much of a glitter person (it makes his face feel stiff) but the shade of blue-purple is his favourite out of all the colours.

“Nice,” Chan says. Changbin meets his eyes through the mirror.

“Yours is better.”

Chan furrows his brows but doesn’t say anything in favour of lightly grasping Changbin’s hand and leading him towards the middle of their room. Changbin surveys the space. It’s a little cramped and shaped a bit funny, but it’ll do.

“When?”

“Jisung should be back any minute now,” Chan says, tossing a look towards the clock. “Position.”

Changbin stands, facing the wall. Chan stands at his back, a steady line of heat. The door clicks open seconds later and Jisung strides in, a bag slung over his shoulder. “Hey… guys?”

The door shuts as Changbin drops into Child’s Pose, feeling Chan lean over his back. Changbin takes a deep breath and heaves upwards, grabbing Chan’s shoulders to steady himself and twisting around to grasp Chan’s hand.

Jisung, standing close to the door, has a hand over his mouth, shock visible in his eyes. Changbin ignores it and focuses on the steps, raising his left arm to the sky and performing a quick series of movements, meant to simulate a flower. He spins away and stands still, head bowed as Chan imitates him.

It’s Chan’s turn to take the spotlight, so Changbin stays still until Chan dances towards him, arching into a near backbend. Changbin catches him and lifts Chan towards the ceiling, spinning once and then dropping into a kneeling pose. Chan slips out of his grasp and pulls him up and they spin in opposite directions, getting lower with each twirl until they’re both kneeling, facing each other.

Now it’s Jisung’s turn. Slowly, he steps into the center and extends his arms towards the sky. Changbin is the one who gets up first, dropping into a sideways lunge and then spinning so he’s standing on his toes. Jisung watches him, eyes wide, as Changbin contracts, performs a pas-de-bourree, and then grasps Jisung’s arm, bringing it down. Chan laces an arm around Changbin’s waist and thigh, hefting up one of his legs so he’s in a near-split and spinning him around. The stretch in his glutes is painful. 

He reaches around and pulls Chan up into the exact same pose, spinning and setting him down behind Jisung. Changbin moves around to the front, contracting and throwing his arms over his neck - the swan pose, Chan had called it. Chan mirrors him perfectly and Changbin waits for Jisung to turn to the side before moving.

His solo is a perfect copy of Chan’s. Step-step-fall-release-twist-turn-arch-extend. Point and hold, drop. Spin, extend, stretch and then pull up. Chaine towards Chan, extend his arms, and raise them to the sky. Drop backwards and trust Chan to catch him.

There’s one difference this time as Chan lifts him. Changbin stretches his right leg towards the ceiling and, instead of pointing his arms downwards he points sideways. Chan sets him down and he grasps Chan’s hand, pulling him close and spinning together, finally dropping into a kneeling pose in front of Jisung.

Done.

Jisung is silent and Changbin doesn’t dare look up, keeping his arms spread above his head. Chan’s fingers brush his for a split second in silent reassurance. 

“Thank you,” Jisung chokes out and finally Changbin allows himself to look up, meeting Jisung’s eyes. They’re suspiciously misty. “I thought you’d forgotten.”

Chan stands up, pulling Changbin with him, and they envelop Jisung in a rare hug. “I’d never forget,” Chan says into the space between them. “We’ve got each other’s backs, you know? Always.”

“The Monarch - ” Jisung says but Changbin interrupts him.

“Wishes you a happy birthday,” he says firmly. It’s a silent message -  _ don’t talk about it.  _ Changbin doesn’t want to think about their other… duty, should something bad happen. Not on Jisung’s birthday, of all things.

“And many more to come,” Chan follows up. 

“Thank you,” Jisung says into Changbin’s neck, pulling away from both of them and wiping his eyes. “Your dance was beautiful.”

“A tribute to your years,” Changbin and Chan say at the same time, as is appropriate.

“A gift of your serenity,” Jisung replies, the response automatic. Changbin should know. These phrases were drilled into them, long long ago. 

They face each other for one solemn second. Changbin studies the silver and lilac glitter that sticks to Chan’s cheekbones, glitter he knows is mirrored on his own face. Jisung’s eyes are overly bright and slightly tinged with red.

Abruptly, Jisung bursts into laughter and throws himself on top of both of them, knocking them to the floor. Changbin catches the brunt of Chan and Jisung’s combined weight, sitting down hard (and probably bruising his tailbone in the process). 

Jisung drags them all into a pile, one arm pulling Changbin into his chest (Changbin hates how he’s the shortest out of all of them sometimes) and the other yanking Chan into Jisung’s side. Chan accidentally elbows Changbin in the process and he hisses, rolling off of Jisung to burrow into Chan’s back. 

“This is unorthodox,” Chan says after a moment, Changbin raises his head and meets Jisung’s eyes over Chan’s shoulder. 

“Do you really care right now?” Jisung questions. He’s always been the most deviant out of all of them, but he’s loyal when it counts.

Chan regards them both in turn. A speck of glitter falls off his cheek. They’ll have to clean that later and it’ll probably end up being Changbin. “No.”

Jisung snickers and tugs Chan impossibly closer. “Get over here, B. You’re the babiest out of all of us.”

“You’re two centimeters taller, you have no right to judge.”

“I do, though,” Chan says, “and I say he’s right.” He’s only four centimeters taller, the absolute liar. Changbin glares, betrayed. 

“Jisung’s the youngest.”

“Can’t dispute the leader,” Jisung says with a shit-eating grin. “You’re soft for us, you know that. C’mon.”

“This is your fault,” Changbin mutters directly into Chan’s ear, making him start. Nevertheless, he crawls over and lets Jisung arrange him as he desires. The adrenaline of dancing has worn off, leaving him feeling strangely tired and not in a good way. Maybe some sleep would help. 

  
  
  
  


Changbin’s first thought when waking up is,  _ Have I been captured? _

He panics for a split second and then realizes that no, he has not been captured and it’s Jisung’s arm over his neck, not a collar. The person in question has latched onto Changbin like a koala.

“Don’ go,” Jisung slurs when Changbin shifts. Hazy brown eyes peer at him from underneath dark lashes. “S’ cold.”

The makeup feels sticky on his face and he’s still tired somehow but Jisung burrows into him like some sort of cat and pulls him impossibly close and Changbin relents, relaxing back into Jisung’s hold.

It’s only then that he realizes Chan is gone.

“Where’s…”

“Dunno,” Jisung says sleepily. “Said he was gonna go do recon or somethin’. G’to sleep.”

Changbin lies back down, rubbing absently at his temple. His head aches and his body feels heavy but he can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong.

“He went without us?”

“Tol’ me t’ get more sleep,” Jisung says into Changbin’s neck. Pauses. “H’pocrite.”

Changbin snorts. It’s well known among them that Chan almost never sleeps. Jisung likes to say that he’s part bat. 

(Bats sleep in the daytime. Chan doesn’t sleep in the daytime. Chan doesn’t sleep, period.)

“If he’s not back in 10 minutes, I’m calling him,” Changbin says, staring at the ceiling. His head  _ aches _ , a steadily pounding pulse. He kind of wants to sleep and scream at the same time. 

“Hrmm,” Jisung mutters. “Yeah. Sleep, please?”

“Sleep,” Changbin agrees with a sigh.

As much as he tries, he can’t fall asleep. There’s too much noise going on in his mind (even though it’s completely silent in their room, what is going  _ on _ ) and -

He kind of wants to drop.

But Chan’s not here and no way in hell is Changbin going to ask  _ Jisung  _ to help him. He’ll survive; it’s not like it matters. 

_ Yes it does,  _ the voice in his mind that sounds suspiciously like Chan says.

_ Shut up, you sleep for three hours a day,  _ the voice in his mind that sounds like, well, himself, says. ‘Chan’’s voice falls silent.

It hasn’t been ten minutes yet (only around six, judging by the clock), but Changbin’s impatient and just wants to do  _ something  _ even though he feels exhausted so he gently slips out of Jisung’s hold and heads towards the coms lying on the table.

“S’not been ten m’nutes yet,” Jisung grouses. 

“I’m bored,” Changbin says, picking up his com and turning it on. He presses it to his ear. “CB, lotus.”

Static.

And that’s when Changbin immediately knows something’s wrong.

It’s been drilled into them, time after time. You do not randomly go silent on coms. Especially if you are alone. Especially,  _ especially  _ if you are in a foreign land such as  _ South. Goddamn. Allesia. _

“Get the laptop,” he says to Jisung. “CB isn’t responding.”

Jisung sits up at that, looking fully awake. “Shit.”

“Language,” Changbin comments on instinct. In reality, they don’t really care. It’s only because of Chan, who has some personal hatred against swearing, that they try to limit themselves.

Chan’s com signal is only in view for a moment before it abruptly disappears, but that’s all they need. Changbin quickly shuts down the laptop and turns off the comm. This could be bad. This could be really, really bad.

“Both?” he asks.

“I think so,” Jisung sighs. “We might need the manpower.”

“Com or no com?”

At this they fall silent. There’s an almost 100% chance they’ve been discovered. Having no coms could be safer, but having a method of communication is almost always worth the risk.

(Seriously, Chan?)

“None,” Jisung sighs. “Too risky.”

“Yeah,” Changbin says. They have the poison pills if they get into a really bad situation, anyway. “We’ll have to stick together, I guess.”

Putting on their combat gear feels unusually somber this time. Changbin wipes the makeup off and throws the wipe into the garbage can; the last remnant of a happy afternoon. It’s not like they’ve never been caught before, but that never makes it easier.

“For the Monarch,” Jisung mutters quietly. Changbin echoes the statement and they head out.

The streets of South Allesia are packed as usual. Changbin brushes his bangs out of his face and heads towards the mansion with Jisung, lagging behind him slightly. 

(Chan could already be dead, he realizes. The pills take effect after only ten seconds. There’s no antidote.)

(The wind blows past his face and Changbin takes a moment to appreciate the sensation. Every mission is dangerous, but this feels so, so much worse.)

(Would they be sent to Room 101, if they survived?)

(He hopes not, but that’s not his decision is it.)

  
  
  


Jeongin’s face is bruised badly on one cheek and there’s a gash on his side and Seungmin is. Fuming.

North Allesia. Again. Of course it’s the fucking North. Of course. He was having a good day and then what appears to be some sort of superhuman just busts into their home, leaves several of their incredibly well trained guards knocked out cold and kills one, smashes a vase, and punches his  _ boyfriend  _ in the face before being subdued.

Seungmin recognizes the com design; he’d seen it multiple times before. It’s a North com, given to the ‘specialty’ guards. He recognizes the taser, too, from multiple times of being zapped with one. 

“You don’t have to fret over me,” Jeongin says, shifting away from a concerned Felix. “Honestly, Lixie. I’m fine.”

“He punched you in the cheek, Innie,” Seungmin says, reigning in his anger because  _ now is not the time goddammit _ . “I’m just glad he didn’t break a bone.”

“Please,” Jeongin sniffs. “My bones are too tough for his fists.”

“Say that when you nearly get your arm broken by him,” Hyunjin says unhappily, rubbing at said arm. “That guy was like a hurricane.”

Minho says nothing but flips the guy over roughly and yanks out the com. “See if you can trace this,” he says, tossing it to Seungmin. Seungmin catches it. “Tie him up in the most secure cell.”

“Yes sir,” a scared-looking guard says, obeying. Superhuman ninja boy is chained up and dragged off. 

“Are you going to kill him?” Hyunjin asks.

“We’ll see,” Minho sighs, shoving a hand through his hair. “God. That was the most tense fight I’ve had in a lifetime.”

“Same,” Felix says, shuddering a little. “The way he moved… jesus.”

“It’s the North training,” Seungmin says, crossing his arms. “From what I’ve heard, it’s  _ brutal _ .” He decides not to mention the more… gory things he’s heard. “Very few people make it through. The ones that don’t… no one ever talks about them.”

“The Monarch’s a jerk,” Jeongin mutters into Seungmin’s chest.

“He is,” Seungmin sighs, wrapping his arms tightly around Jeongin’s waist. Presses his face into Jeongin’s shoulder and tries to ground himself. The green ribbon tied around his wrist is a familiar, comforting sight.

God, how did he ever get someone as amazing as Jeongin?

“You in there, Minnie?” Jeongin asks, voice brushing his ear. It tickles. 

“Mm,” Seungmin says, burying his face deeper. Sometimes he wishes he could just stay in Jeongin’s warm embrace and never leave.

“Don’t worry about me,” Jeongin murmurs softly. Fingers lace around Seungmin’s wrist - the one with the ribbon - and soft lips press into where his wrist joins to his palm. “I can’t leave, remember? You’d drag me right back from the depths of hell and we can’t have that.”

“Duh,” Seungmin says. Jeongin laughs and it’s a gorgeous sound.

“You good, Min?” Felix asks. “He’s not the only one, is he?”

“Doubtful,” Seungmin sighs, gently removing Jeongin’s hands from his waist. He misses the warmth immediately. “I’ll get back to work.”

Thankfully, Jeongin doesn’t say anything but just keeps a gentle grasp on Seungmin’s wrist, rubbing soothingly at the ribbon while he works. The North coms haven’t changed one bit since when he first hacked into one and he’s quickly able to trace the signal to a dingy hotel room in Sunshine Hotel.

(The name, Seungmin feels, is a bit of an oxymoron.)

He pulls up the guest records for Sunshine Hotel after a bit of illegal cyber manipulation and scrolls through to find the inhabitants of room 212.

**Wang Zhe Ren**

**Kim Do Yoon**

**Han Jin Young**

Call him off his rocker, but Seungmin’s pretty sure those people are dead. 

He does a quick search through his files and there it is: Team Swallowtail. Three dead (Wang Zhe Ren, Kim Do Yoon, Han Jin Young) and one survivor (Rio Yui). 

In the South, this sort of disrespect would never be tolerated. Slandering the names of the deceased, whoever they were, was considered rude and cruel to their family. Seungmin isn’t sure whether the Monarch was doing it on purpose or just didn’t give a shit. Probably the latter.

The signal from the com cuts off but Seungmin has basically all the information he needs. “Hey,” he says to a passing guard. “Call the Sunshine Hotel and ask for a description of Wang Zhe Ren, Kim Do Yoon, and Han Jin Young. Got it? Wang Zhe Ren, Kim Do Yoon, and Han Jin Young. Do you need me to write it down?”

“Got it, sir,” the guard says. “I can remember it, don’t worry.”

“Good,” Seungmin says. “Write down what they say.”

“Yes sir,” the guard says, heading off. Seungmin nods and shuts off his computer, leaning back with a groan.

This is great. This is more than great. This is all, perfectly,  _ fine. _

(It’s not and he knows it.)

Why here? Why now? Why  _ them? _

His past isn’t a secret with the others, least of all himself. Seungmin kind of hates that even though he’s left it all behind it still continues to haunt him. The North (the fucking North,  _ goddamnit _ ) shows up when he obsessively cleans up spills and other messes, when he constantly tries to rearrange everything to be ‘orderly’ or whatever bullshit they talk about, when he finds himself curled up and shaking in Minho’s giant bathtub tearing at the skin under his nails with his teeth.

(That had been a bad day. Jeongin had cried and hugged him so tightly Seungmin was pretty sure his ribs would crack.)

(It had been even worse when everyone started treating him like some sort of flower. He wasn’t made of glass.)

(God, he kind of hates flowers now.)

But now here he was, with people who actually  _ cared  _ about him and were okay with all of Seungmin’s odd quirks and behaviours and it was incredible but of course, of  _ course  _ some random North assassin or whatever had to just bust in and throw everything off. Abso-fucking-lutely  _ wonderful. _

  
  
  


Changbin kind of hates the vents.

It’s not that he’s scared. It’s just that it’s so  _ small  _ and every motion puts him on edge, like the stupid thing is going to collapse and bury him under what feels like four tons of metal, crushing his ribcage and leaving him to asphyxiate slowly to death as he struggles to breathe in oxygen while shards of bone are digging into his lungs and heart.

(Okay, fine. Maybe he is.)

Chan’s absence only makes it worse. Usually, their leader would be a grounding force of sorts and, if Changbin really needed to, he could go into fight-space. But he doesn’t have those options now, does he.

(He has fight-space if he really needs it, but that’s much harder with Jisung than with Chan. Jisung has very little control over him and vice versa.)

(Stupid orientations.)

Jisung pauses and Changbin stills, deliberately holding his breath. They’ve been trained to hold their breath for over ten minutes (Changbin determinedly does not think about  _ that  _ phase of his training). The record is twenty-two. He’s not sure if he could do that, should he need to, but Changbin is very willing to try.

Two pairs of footsteps are walking beneath them. Changbin shifts slowly to press his ear to the metal.

“Did you hear about that North assassin we caught?”

“Yeah, man. Poor Yuna. Heard she was knocked out cold. She’ll be feeling that for weeks.”

“Really? But she’s so strong!”

“Guess it’s the North blood, man. Maybe they have some sort of chemicals injected into their blood.”

The men’s laughter fades off into the distance and Changbin carefully pulls back. North assassin. Chan is definitely here.

“Info?” Jisung whispers, voice barely audible in the vent.

“CB is here,” Changbin whispers back. Jisung nods and wordlessly they keep moving.

Chan’s here. Changbin doesn’t have a layout of the mansion and that’s risky, especially here, but they’ll figure it out, one way or another. For Chan, they could probably do anything.

  
  
  


There are several things that Felix likes. Puppies, for one. Kittens, too. Watching the sun rise and set. And pretty things.

Hyunjin has called him a magpie before but Felix likes to think he’s more of a hamster, finding and protecting his pretty things.

(“You’re about as threatening as one,” Hyunjin said when Felix had pointed this out. He’d promptly been hit over the head with a pillow.”)

(Seungmin throughly scolded them later, but in Felix’s opinion it was totally worth it.)

North Assasin Boy isn’t a pretty thing, per say, but Felix has the sometimes-not-so-good of being intrigued by strangers. Who knows, maybe North Assasin Boy (NAB for short) will be… interesting.

“What’s our strategy?” he asks as they descend into the lower levels of the mansion. Minho shrugs, face set into a stony expression.

“Stick with basic interrogation for now,” he says. “We don’t have all the assassins yet.”

“Mm.”

  
  
  


They’ve arrived at a crossroads of sorts.

Changbin stares at the vents, branching off left and right. 

‘Where?’ he mouths.

‘Split?’ Jisung mouths back. 

Changbin shakes his head.  _ Too dangerous.  _ Jisung sighs, nodding.

‘Yeah.’

Hesitantly, Changbin moves towards the right vent and takes a breath. The air smells more humid somehow. He points towards the right vent; it probably leads down and down is where people usually keep prisoners.

Jisung crawls over, sniffs the air once, and nods. Together they head into the right vent, one after another.

Changbin can only hope that he’s right.

  
  
  


At this point, Minho thinks while blocking a fierce punch from another  _ goddamn assassin how were there so many,  _ he’s seen enough to last a lifetime.

Somehow, while they were heading to the prisoner’s cell they had been ambushed by a pair of assassins who literally jumped out of the vents. It was only their guards’ quick thinking that stopped them from both being tased. He’ll have to give them a pay raise - though that probably wouldn’t make up for their badly injured state.

And now here they were, struggling against two people who were even more exhausting to fight than the first one. 

“Call the others!” he yells and is promptly kneed in the gut and knocked flat for his distraction. Minho hisses and kicks outwards with his legs, trying to trip his opponent up. They spin away with terrifying ease and dive towards Felix.

_ Oh hell no. _

Minho surges up after them, grabbing their ankle and taking a vicious blow to the face. Felix is trying his best to call for backup and fight off the other assassin at the same time (he’s mostly failing, the poor guy). Minho manages to tug one off and lunges for the other, promptly getting thrown back and jabbed directly in the sternum - hard.

These people were fucking  _ lethal. _

Thankfully, Felix’s panicked shout managed to get through. Now all they have to do is last against two superhumans. Great.

Unfortunately, assassin duo seemed to have realized what was going on. One of them promptly joint-locks Felix and runs for the prisoner’s cell. Minho runs after them but is stopped by another, rolling away before he can get tased in the gut. Felix manages to distract the not-running one by hitting him in the arm and Minho sprints for the running one.

Bad idea.

Running one abruptly twists around and tases Minho in the stomach, a move that is scarily fast. Pain shoots through his torso and he convulses, unable to control his jerking limbs. Running one keeps moving and non-running one is also running now, having successfully tased Felix, both towards the prisoner’s cell.

“Stop! Now!”

In his life, Minho has never been as thankful for Hyunjin as he is now.

Both runners don’t stop - of course they don’t. One takes up a defensive stance in front of the prisoner boy’s cell, taser and knife gripped firmly in their hands. Minho manages to push himself up from the floor and stumble towards the intruders. Felix grabs onto his elbow for support.

“Drop your weapons,” Seungmin snaps, gun gripped tightly in his hands. Defensive stance doesn’t do anything, eyes narrowed. Non defensive stance is behind defensive stance, fiddling with the lock.

“Drop the key,” Minho manages to say. His throat feels like he’s swallowed a cheese grater. He can see why Seungmin hates those tasers.

Slowly, assassin duo put down their respective items. 

“Good,” Seungmin says coldly. “Take out any other weapons you have and lay them down.”

They, thankfully, obey. Minho doesn’t want to think about the chaos they could cause if they chose to actually fight back.

Several guards step up from the crowd and handcuff the assassin duo’s hands, forcing them to their knees. Minho stumbles forwards and pulls down their masks.

“Who are you?” he demands. His voice comes out less menacing than he intended but what can you do.

No answer. Matching cold glares from both. Even with their decidedly non-threatening posture, the stares are mildly frightening.

He won’t get anything now, he realizes. 

“Lock them up in individual cells. Individual,” he emphasizes firmly. “Don’t do anything… yet.”

  
  
  


Jisung considers himself the heart of their little group.

Chan, he knows, is the root and stem. He helps them grow. Changbin once admitted (in private and while he thought Jisung was asleep) that Chan was probably the person he felt understood him the most.

If Chan is their root and stem, Changbin is the thorns. Changbin is the one who protects them, in all his 167 centimeters of pure muscle and sheer stubbornness. Jisung has thankfully never been on the receiving end of Changbin’s protective fury and he hopes he never will.

That leaves him, the odd one out. Jisung joined their little trio the latest, coming from a group of trainee guards. Chan was muscular and intimidating and Changbin was less muscular but just as intimidating and Jisung had awkwardly introduced himself as ‘Han Jisung, nice to meet you!’ 

(To be honest, it was a bit of a blur. Might have been the killer headache he’d had, but Jisung was pretty sure he’d said that.)

If Chan was their root and Changbin was their thorn then Jisung was the flower. He was the person they went to for comfort or just a hug, he would cheer them up after a hard day at work. That was their little rose of love.

(So he’s a romantic, sue him.)

Roses weren’t meant to be shredded to little bits.

But here they were.

Jisung had grown so used to falling asleep with his partners at his back that when he tried to go to sleep, curled up against the cell wall, he hadn’t been able to. There had been something missing. Some vital piece of the puzzle was gone.

It didn’t get better the next day, either. Some guy with dark hair and a stupidly handsome face had come in, flanked by two guards, and had proceeded to attempt to befriend Jisung. Yeah, right. 

Interrogation Techniques 101, chapter 17 page 213: Your interrogator may try to befriend you with charming words, gifts of food, or casual conversation. In this situation, you must remember that your loyalty is key. No matter what, you remain loyal. This will be a test of your fortitude and you must succeed.

And Jisung may be many things, but he’s not a failure or a traitor.

Handsome Guy (Jisung’s pretty sure his name was Hyunjin) left after about an hour, stating that he’d be back later with lunch. Jisung has never been so glad for a textbook before.

  
  


“Your friends have been asking for you,” Hyunjin states as they eat (well, more like he eats. Jisung knows how to ignore his hunger and he’d eaten two days ago; he’d be fine). “Would you like to see them?”

And oh, Handsome Guy (he didn’t deserve having a name after that move) was a jerk.

“We’ll make a deal,” Handsome Guy continues, leaning back casually. He looks ridiculously comfortable in the cell, as if they’re in a luxury hotel instead of a stone room. “You give me your name and I’ll let you see your friends, alright?”

Like hell is Jisung going to give Handsome Guy his full name. You never give the enemy your name. “J.One,” he says instead. Handsome Guy laughs, throwing his head back.

“You’re quite funny, has anyone ever said that?” he says. Jisung despises him. “No, no. Your actual name. Everyone has a name!”

“How do you know?” Jisung snaps back. “Maybe I don’t.”

“So you just went around calling yourself J.One? The North must be quite the odd place.”

Bitch.

“The North,” Jisung snaps, furious, “is a beautiful place. It’s a symbol of order and elegance.”

“Never said it wasn’t,” Handsome Guy says, eyes glittering with amusement. “I’m sure it’s as… wonderful… as you say. You do have a name, though, right?”

“Fine,” Jisung mutters. “I’m Han Jin Young.”

He knows damn well he’s not.

“Pardon? I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Han Jin Young,” Jisung snaps, louder this time. Handsome Guy’s stare makes him a little uncomfortable.

“I’d believe the ‘Han’ part,” he muses, “but not the Jin Young part. Han Jin Young is dead, darling, and we both know that. Never disrespect the deceased.”

How had he kno -

Yeah, Jisung doesn’t have time to think about it because he’s got to find a way to avoid telling his real name.

“Han,” is what he settles on eventually. “My last name is Han. Now can I see my partners?”

“Alright then, darling,” Handsome Guy sighs. 

“Don’t call me darling,  _ Hwang.” _

“Aw, you know me? I’m flattered, Han-ie,” Handsome Guy says without missing a goddamn beat. “A few guards will come get you in about an hour, okay? Try to eat next time.”

And then he saunters out, with a stupid smirk on his stupid handsome face and Jisung does his best not to bash his head into the wall.

  
  


Chan is leaning against the wall and Changbin is sitting next to him and Jisung almost slips up, almost calls out their actual names because he’s so  _ relieved. _

Thankfully he manages to catch himself before letting too much out.

“Ch - C! B!”

“J!” 

Jisung tries to run to them but is pulled harshly back by the guards. He glares, but lets them chain him up next to Changbin.

“You’re okay,” Changbin sighs, leaning forwards as much as he can. Jisung presses his forehead to Changbin’s and relishes in the small bit of contact. 

“‘Course,” he says. “Aren’t we always?”

A guard snorts but shuts up quickly when Changbin glares, eyes hard as ice. 

“C ’s being stubborn,” Changbin mutters under his breath.

Jisung sighs silently but can’t help but smile. Some things will never change.

“M’ not stubborn,” Chan grumbles quietly. Changbin doesn’t roll his eyes but Jisung can see it’s a close thing.

“Right.”

“Well, it’s good to see you’re all happy.”

Jisung twists to see the newcomer. He can recognize the face; it’s the smiley one. Yongbok. 

“Why are you here, Lee,” Changbin snaps, transforming from relieved to cold in the blink of an eye. Jisung never fails to be impressed and mildly terrified by his duality.

“Just here to have a little chat, is all,” Yongbok says easily, settling down onto the floor. “Our leader will be here soon.”

Leader, leader, leader… 

‘Minho,’ Chan mouths, lips curling into a slight scowl.

Ah. Right. Minho. Probably a jerk, like Handsome Guy. Wonderful.

“Now, I’m sure you’re all very excited to meet him,” Yongbok says, smiling. Jisung is vaguely reminded of a cat. And not the cute kind, either.

(Kind of cute, actually. But Jisung is a weak person and denial is a powerful, powerful tool. He’ll leave the self honesty up to Chan.)

“So, be on your best behaviour,” Yongbok finishes. “He’s not nearly as sweet as I am.”

Changbin snorts. “Got it. Thanks.”

Jisung doesn’t miss the way Yongbok’s eyes narrow slightly, glittering with something dangerous. He’ll have to keep an eye on this one.

“You’re welcome, pretty.”

He will  _ definitely _ have to keep an eye on this one.

  
  


Changbin really,  _ really  _ hates Yongbok right about now. Or, as he says, ‘Felix’. The guy has no excuse for what he does, AKA getting under Changbin’s skin. Torture would be better than this.

(“Don’t assume things,” he can hear Chan saying in the back of his mind, tone going all chiding and Chan-y. “We could be a lot worse off.”)

(“I know,” his imaginary self would reply, arms crossed, “but  _ come on.”) _

“You’re welcome, pretty,” Yongbok says, seemingly amused. Changbin hates him even more for that.

“Do  _ not  _ call me pretty.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, raising his hands up and smiling more. 

Right. Totally.

“Good to see you’ve got everything under control, Felix.”

Ah. So this is Minho, the leader.

“My name is Lee Minho,” Lee Minho says, sitting down and regarding each of them in turn. Changbin notes the gun at his hip. “I’ve met only one of you so far, so why don’t you tell me all your names and we can get started.”

Like hell, Changbin thinks.

“Han,” Jisung says shortly.

“Just Han?”

“Han.”

“Hm. Interesting. I know you’re Chan and you are?”

“He’s Bin,” Yongbok says, leaning back. “Or, as I call him, Binnie.”

Changbin inhales, exhales. Tries not to die inside. Jisung looks like he’s desperately trying to stifle a laugh, the  _ traitor. _

“Just. Bin.”

“Alright, alright,” Yongbok sighs like they’re friends. “Bin.”

“Han, Chan, Bin,” Minho muses. “Wonderful. Let’s cut to the chase; you tell me what you know about the Monarch’s plans and I let you three go to a better cell.”

“No.”

The word is out before he can even think about it. Jisung and Chan quickly echo him. Changbin doesn’t have to look to know they all share the same stony expression.  _ Mute face,  _ an instructor had called it.  _ Doesn’t give anything away. You will hold it, even when threatened or hurt. _

“Hard way, then,” Minho sighs, shaking his head. “You know, I didn’t want to have to do this.”

_ Then don’t,  _ Changbin wants to say. Jisung actually says it, glaring. Minho’s only response is a chilling smile.

“This is bloodroot sap,” he says. “At least, a very highly distilled and modified version of it.”

Bloodroot sap, bloodroot sap… Changbin knows of multiple poisons. He doesn’t think bloodroot is native to the North.

“Undistilled, it can cause severe tissue damage when applied to the skin,” Minho says, tilting the vial so the liquid moves around in the glass. Changbin determinedly keeps his gaze fixed on him. “But we don’t want that, do we.”

He pauses, eyes fixated on each of them in turn. “Last chance.”

This time, it’s Chan who leads. “No,” he says coldly.

“No,” Jisung and Changbin say at the same time.

“Alright,” Minho sighs, standing up and walking towards Jisung.

Fucking bastard.

Changbin hates the fact that he’s chained up even more now, watching as three guards force Jisung’s mouth open and Minho - that smug  _ fucker  _ \- opens the vial and pours a few drops onto Jisung’s tongue. 

It’ll be okay, he assures himself, determinedly keeping mute face. It’ll be okay. They’ve all got good pain endurance; they can take it.

Jisung screams and Changbin hates himself for even thinking that.

Chan has somehow managed to hold on to mute face - he’s always been good at that - but Changbin is  _ weak  _ and he barely even lasts one second before pulling his knees up to his ears, trying to block out Jisung’s pained cries. A foot hits him in the thigh; Jisung’s, probably. Changbin can’t blame the guy.

When the screams die down, he looks back up. Jisung is curled against the wall, eyes shut and Changbin is reminded abruptly that pain  _ endurance  _ isn’t pain  _ tolerance.  _ Yongbok steps away from Jisung, face set, and Changbin hates him even more than before.

“That was a highly distilled version,” Minho says, not sounding at all affected. “I’m sure none of you would enjoy the less distilled ones. Any of you want to speak and spare yourselves?”

“No,” Jisung snaps, voice hoarse. Changbin feels proud.

“No.”

“No.”

“Shame,” Minho sighs, this time approaching Changbin. “Easy way or hard way, Bin?”

Changbin glares. “Just do it.”

“Didn’t know you were into that,” Minho comments. Changbin glares even harder and braces himself. He’s got the highest endurance (and tolerance) out of everyone. It’s best for him to do it, anyway.

The bloodroot sap settles on his tongue and Minho smiles, teeth bared. “Swallow.”

Changbin breathes in deep and swallows.

Good news: now he knows what being on fire and frozen at the same time feels like.

Bad news: being on fire was a lot better than this. 

It feels like he’s being burnt to death, flames licking at his flesh and veins, but at the same time his limbs are frozen and being ripped to tiny shreds. Changbin curls into a ball, as if it would help, and chokes on a scream, biting desperately at his tongue. He tastes iron.

Someone pries his jaw open after a few moments of torture and shoves something down his throat. Changbin swallows on instinct and the pain gradually fades away, leaving him slumped exhaustedly against the wall. His tongue hurts and he spits something out. It’s a piece of his tongue.

“That must hurt,” Yongbok comments and when the hell did he get so close? Changbin barely manages to fight the urge to headbutt him right in the throat.

(Is he ever tempted, though.)

“Do you really want your friends to keep getting hurt?” Minho asks. “Because I’ve got plenty of bloodroot to keep going on.”

“Don’t do it,” Changbin mutters under his breath. Yongbok sighs audibly and gently cups Changbin’s shoulder. He shrugs the touch off.

“I don’t like seeing you guys hurt,” Yongbok says softly. 

Ah. 

Interrogation Techniques 101, chapter 13 page 176: Good Cop Bad Cop is a commonly used form of interrogation to make one person seem friendlier. Remember, they are never on your side. They may appear kind but in reality all they want is to destablize the Monarch. You must never let yourself fall to this illusion.

Changbin’s no people expert - leave that to Jisung - but he’s reasonably sure that’s what’s going on.

“I will let you think about that for now,” Minho says, tucking the vial into his pocket. “Felix, we’re leaving.”

“Sir, will you - ” a guard asks.

“Let them be for now,” Minho says. “I’m sure you’ll keep a good eye on them.”

“Yes sir.”


	4. Winter is the Season of Stillness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning to post this yesterday, for Christmas, but my plans got derailed so here it is today. :)
> 
> We're moving pretty fast, huh. The time skip is implied, but it's been a few days since the last chapter. You can assume every chapter happens a day or two apart unless said otherwise.
> 
> CW//suicide, attempted suicide, nongraphic violence, mind control
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -Jay

“We should be dead.”

Chan. It’s Chan who says that, looking tired. Changbin arches his back - god he’s stiff. He wishes he could stretch or something.

“Yeah,” Jisung says quietly. “A day ago, right? We were supposed to take it.”

“Right.”

It’s just procedure. You get captured, you don’t escape in two days, you take the poison pill and die.

_ Nothin’ personal,  _ the instructor had said.  _ But we can’t let information slip. S’ painless, anyway. Swallow, wait ten seconds, and that’s it. _

The pill is in a hidden pouch on his shoulder. All he would need to do is bite through the cloth and swallow the pill and he’ll die. Quick and painless. The Monarch would never cause them unnecessary harm. 

“I guess it’s goodbye,” he says, twisting his head to the side and readying himself. He doesn’t want to see them die.

“Wait.”

Jisung?

“Not… not yet,” Jisung says quietly. “Maybe… maybe just wait? We can escape, right? And…”

“This isn’t protocol,” Chan murmurs.

Changbin stills. Waits for Chan to give the word that they should do it. He’s… he won’t say ready. But if he needs to, he will.

“Please?” Jisung asks, eyes wide. “I don’t…”

It breaks Changbin’s cold, icy heart. 

They might be assassins (Changbin’s honestly lost count of the people he’s killed), but that doesn’t stop Jisung from looking devastatingly  _ young.  _

He doesn’t want Jisung to die either, he realizes. But if they do escape, they’ll be retired. Sent to Room 101. Changbin has heard  _ stories  _ about Room 101 and none of them are pleasant.

“One more day,” Chan says quietly. “One more.”

One more, huh. Changbin leans back and waits.

He’ll never be ready, but the countdown has already begun.

  
  
  


“Nothing,” Seungmin states, eyes narrowed. “You got nothing except for fragments of their names. That literally anyone in the North could have.”

Minho sighs. “Yes.”

Seungmin presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “You’ll have to work fast, Minho. There are mics embedded into the walls of the prison cell and I was listening to the audio. They don’t speak very loudly, but from what I caught I’m pretty sure they’re planning suicide.”

Minho stills. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” Seungmin sighs. “That’s accurate.”

“How are they going to do that?” Minho asks. “They don’t have any weapons or sharp things. Or poison, as far as I can see.”

“It might be embedded into their uniform,” Seungmin says. There’s a distinct crackling noise and Minho frowns. 

“What just - ”

“Mic’s gone,” Seungmin says, turning back to his screen. “Wow. Based on the leftover feedback, I’m pretty sure one of them bit it.” He pauses, sighs. “And that was a good one, too.”

Minho raises an eyebrow. Honestly? He’d respect a person who has enough daring to bite out a microphone embedded into a wall.

  
  


Chan spits out the remnants of the mic that Jisung spotted. The taste of metal and electricity remains on his tongue. “Eugh.”

“Hey, what did you just do!” a guard snaps.

“Nothing,” Changbin snaps right back like the prickly little rose he is. “We’re not escaping any time soon, anyway.”

“You’re not escaping. Ever.”

“Yeah yeah, got it,” Changbin says, rolling his eyes. “Wasn’t my point, anyway.”

The guard sniffs, seemingly reassured, and turns away. Chan nudges the broken pieces away from him into a corner with his foot, spitting out one last fragment of plastic. 

“Why did you bite it?” Jisung mutters.

“No other way,” Chan shrugs. Pretends it’s just a casual day, on the job. Like he’s not going to watch his teammates commit suicide tomorrow.

Sometimes, he hates having to be the leader.

Don’t get him wrong. Chan loves his team. When he was first moved, as a last resort to try and control Changbin (then referred to as Experiment AO0161), who was the only one deemed ‘acceptable’ after the first operation, he hadn’t known what would happen.

Surprisingly enough, they bonded rather quickly. Changbin was grateful that Chan wasn’t abusing his fight-space and Chan was just glad someone didn’t look strangely upon him for his accent. 

But now that has to end. They’ve got no choice. Chan knows what will happen to his team if they don’t comply. 

He hopes the mic didn’t pick up on what they said. 

“You know, we heard something very interesting today.”

Uh oh.

Chan narrows his eyes at Hwang Hyunjin’s pale face. Jisung is bristling out of the corner of his eye. Someone else steps in behind Hwang, watching them carefully. 

“Tell me,” Hwang says and yep, they definitely heard. Chan can and will break their ribs if he has to. “What is it? A pill? A vial?”

“What is what?” Chan says, keeping his face mute and praying Changbin and Jisung take the hint. Thankfully, they don’t speak and let him negotiate. 

“Don’t play coy, darling, that’s for me to do,” Hwang says. Chan can see why Jisung hates him now. Changbin might be the angriest of all of them, but Jisung is more fiery, more impatient. “Will you tell us or do we have to use less fun methods?”

Vaguely menacing, Chan thinks dryly, but they’ve been through a lot worse. 

“I still have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, giving bluffing one last shot. He might be the most diplomatic out of all of them, but they’re assassins, not politicians. 

“You’re not a very good liar, you know,” Hwang comments, approaching and tilting Chan’s head up with a slender finger. Chan refrains from biting the guy’s hand. He’s not Changbin. 

(But seriously, he didn’t have to rub it in.)

“IN,” Hwang says, not looking away from Chan, “come here.”

IN, the boy standing just behind Hwang, approaches and runs his hands not-too-gently over Chan’s body. Chan hates the fact that he’s in chains even more now. 

It’s not that he hates physical contact… it’s just that they’re looking at him like he’s some sort of interesting object to be placed on a pedestal and studied and Chan has always hated that feeling. He’s got a lot of the same dislikes as Changbin. Maybe that’s why they bonded so quickly.

“Check the shoulder?” IN says, still looming over Chan like some sort of strange monster. Hwang pulls out a knife and  _ nope,  _ Chan is not letting them cut his uniform up _.  _ That’s valuable fabric and it’s been with him for  _ years _ . 

He sends a quick mental apology to his teammates before moving, pushing himself back towards the wall and nailing a circular kick. The heel of his boot hits Hwang’s knife and sends it clattering down to the ground. 

‘What the hell,’ Changbin mouths, eyes wide with shock. Chan doesn’t even reprimand the swear, knowing that he’ll be in pretty grave trouble after this.

Guards storm in immediately, marching towards him and this time it’s Changbin who lashes out, always their protector. Chan is infinitely grateful he gets to know him. 

Is it now, he wonders? Do they do it now, before they are undoubtedly taken off and tortured?

“Do it,” he manages to say over the din and twists his head away, intending to take the pill. He’s not going to watch his partners die.

Someone grabs his chin before he can do it and holds him back and this time Chan does snap, the ringing in his ears drowning out the world around him as he bites down  _ hard.  _

  
  


Hyunjin looks shaken and Jeongin is curled into Seungmin’s arms, nursing a bleeding hand. And Felix is not happy.

“They’ve been neutralized, sir,” a guard says, hands clasped behind his back, head bowed. He’s got a bad-looking bruise forming on his collarbone. “They’ll be moved to separate cells and changed immediately.”

“Good,” Felix says, deliberately keeping his voice neutral. He’s not taking out his anger on a random guard; that would be rude and the power of Seungmin’s wrath would probably incinerate him alive. “That’s all, thank you. Go to medbay now; you’ve got a pretty bad bruise on your collarbone.”

“Yes sir.”

Felix lets himself collapse onto Minho’s ridiculously luxurious bed once they’ve left, staring up at the ceiling. 

“I can’t believe it,” Hyunjin says eventually. Felix automatically reaches out and pulls him into a tight hug. Hyunjin might look tough, but he’s the most sensitive out of all of them. “They just tried to kill themselves, Lixie. Kill themselves. Who would do that?”

“I don’t know,” Felix sighs, because he might be sunshiny and happy 99% of the time but right now it’s that rare one percent. “North tradition, maybe?”

“No way,” Hyunjin says. “I don’t believe they would do that, as strange and confusing as they are.” Seungmin snorts but doesn’t look up from where his head is buried into Jeongin’s shoulder.

“I would,” Jeongin says. “I’ve heard things from Minnie. Trust me, from what he’s said there are things far worse than killing yourself there.”

“Innie, when - ”

“How did you get him to tell you that?” Felix asks, interrupting Seungmin. Seungmin is ridiculously tight-lipped about his past. Even with all their years of friendship, it’s very difficult to get him to say, well, anything revealing. At all.

“He talks in his sleep,” Jeongin says. “I’ve woken up to him practically sobbing into my chest. I’ve heard enough from him that suicide as a tradition wouldn’t be as ludicrous as you may believe.”

“I what?”

“Sorry, Min,” Jeongin says, twisting around and hugging Seungmin. “It’s not that bad. You do it a lot less now, which is a good sign, right?”

Seungmin frowns, lips pursing. “You should have told me, Innie. I don’t want you to hear about what they do. It’s way too dark for you.”

“I’m fully grown,” Jeongin says, gentle but firm at the same time. “I love you, Minnie - you don’t have to say it back - but you are ridiculously protective sometimes. It’s kind of sweet, but I’m not a child. I’ve fought people and hurt people, remember?”

Seungmin stares at Jeongin for a moment, then sighs and bows his head. “Sorry. It’s not fair to you to treat you like a child and I’ll try to do it less, Innie.”

“Thanks, Minnie,” Jeongin says. “You guys as well. I love you all and it’s very sweet, but I’m not the kid you found on the street anymore, you know?”

“You’ll always be our baby, though,” Hyunjin says, reaching out to ruffle Jeongin’s hair. Felix laughs at the squawk it elicits. “You two honestly have such a healthy, functional relationship. However do you do it?”

“Innie probably made a deal with Abatu,” Felix jokes. “For great hair and healthy, perfectly functional relationships.”

“I would  _ never _ !” Jeongin protests but he’s laughing as well.

The door opens and Minho steps in, looking grim. It’s impressive, Felix thinks, how quickly their cheer dies down.

“Any news?” Seungmin asks.

“I ran a quick test on one of their pills,” Minho says, holding up a bottle. Three white pills sit inside. “Turns out that they’re made of concentrated Wolfsbane, Belladonna, and Hemlock.”

“Which means… ?”

“Definitely suicide,” Minho sighs. “Painful. Very painful - and very lethal. And probably over the course of around thirty minutes to an hour, too. Just taking a bullet would be a lot easier.”

Felix reaches out and gingerly pries the bottle out of Minho’s hand, eyeing the pills. “And they would do that on purpose?”

“Who knows, maybe they would enjoy it,” Minho says. “For their Monarch or whatever stupid things they believe.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Seungmin mutters. “You know what I heard once, from those jerk guards? Loyalty is like a poison. It will be hard to bear, but it will protect you in your time of need. I’m going to call b-bull… ”

“Shit,” Jeongin encourages gently. “Don’t worry about saying it, Minnie.”

Seungmin takes a deep breath. Felix watches as his fingers fiddle with the ribbon. “Bull… shit. That.”

“There we go.”

“It does sound like a load of bullshit to me,” Minho sighs, sitting down. “But who knows. The North is insane.”

“Don’t let Han hear you saying that,” Hyunjin murmurs into Felix’s chest. 

“What do you mean?” Felix asks.

“Han,” Hyunjin says, looking up. He looks a little sleepy, hair mussed up. “The squirrel-looking assassin. Short. Cute - not as cute as me, though. I mentioned something about the North being weird and he went off on me. Said stuff about it being a beacon of order and beauty or whatever.”

Seungmin grimaces.

“Should we just, you know…” Minho says, gesturing to his throat. “They don’t seem to be willing to give much up. And they’re a threat.”

“I don’t think so,” Felix says, thinking back to Bin. Chan was kind of cute-looking, in a puppyish way, but Bin was pretty like a porcelain doll. Felix liked dolls. “They’re… interesting to study.”

“You sound creepy,” Hyunjin informs him. Felix makes a pout.

“No I don’t.”

“You kind of do,” Minho says, reaching over and ruffling Felix’s hair. Felix lets out a surprised noise but doesn’t move away. He’s grown used to Minho doing that. “Like you want to put them up in a display case and examine them for cracks.”

“I don’t!” Felix protests. “I’d just like to dig deeper.”

“We all would,” Jeongin placates, ever the peacemaker. “I don’t think we should, uh, kill them.”

“Me neither,” Hyunjin says, shuddering a little. 

“I don’t care,” Seungmin says. “Your call, Minho.”

“Yeah,” Felix says. “We’ll follow you.”

Just like they all had, before.

Minho leans back and sighs. “We’ll hold onto them for a bit more. They’re obviously a hazard… but they’re also a valuable source of information. If we need to, we can overpower them.”

  
  


Changbin wakes up in a solitary cell.

Great. Just what he needs. Solitude, away from the people he’s spent his life with. Exactly what he wants.

He’s no longer wearing his uniform, instead dressed in a rough shirt and pants. Changbin takes a moment to mourn his uniform, which he’d had since the days of being AO0161 and was probably the most comfortable thing he’d worn. They’d probably burnt it or recycled the cloth for new clothing.

For a moment he wonders if Lee will be back. Then he mentally slaps himself for thinking that. After that stunt they pulled, they’re probably dead. 

With nothing to do in the cell, Changbin is left to either fall asleep or think.

As much as he’d love to sleep, he just can’t. His body feels heavy and his mind is empty but for some reason he just  _ can’t.  _ There’s too much going on for some reason.

So he sighs and lets his thoughts drift off.

Changbin can’t say he’s had many positive memories over the years. They were mostly just there, sitting in his mind. He doesn’t remember much from his training, only that one day he stumbled into a gym with an instructor inside and was handed a roll of athletic tape. And that was it. 

He does remember meeting Chan. It’s a very vivid memory. Chan was this tall, scrawny kid with messy black hair and curious dark eyes. Changbin had glared at him, arms crossed. Hadn’t responded when Chan said an awkward, “Hello, I’m Chan. Uh, nice to meet you… ?”

“AO0161,” he’d said.

“Oh. Well, hi AO016… 1?”

“Mmhm.”

Somewhere along the line, Changbin had finally given Chan his real name (as real as it could be). That had been an odd day. Chan had hugged him. 

It was funny. They didn’t really call each other by their actual names anymore. Safety first and all that.

Chan was strange. Chan was different from all the others who had tried and failed. Chan was gentler, tried to guide instead of force. Changbin found himself settling into a sense of comfort with the other, even when he was under.

He’d never tell Chan this, of course, but Chan was probably the one who’d saved him. Changbin wasn’t stupid and his ears were sharp. He’d heard the whispers. If he couldn’t get a grasp on his fight space, he’d be sent away to Room 101.

Even now, the name made him shiver a little.

It’d been just him and Chan for a while, until Jisung had come along. Jisung, who’d stumbled into their room looking scared and a little woozy but he’d smiled and introduced himself as, “Hi, I’m Han Jisung, nice to meet you, who are you?”

And then he’d promptly fallen over. So much for first impressions. 

Changbin had caught him before Jisung hit the floor, one arm supporting his back and the other holding up his head. Chan was there in a heartbeat, checking Jisung’s pulse.

Despite Changbin’s initial reluctance, Jisung had easily woven his way into Changbin’s world. It was scary how well they fit together, meshing neatly into one cohesive being. ChanChangbinJisung. Jisung was bright and sharp-eyed, Chan was measured and grounding, Changbin was… 

Well, he could fight. He was their best fighter, especially with his fight space. And that was enough, he supposed.

He’s beginning to feel thirsty. Changbin supposes that’s because he hasn’t had any water in a long while. But that’s okay. He can go a few more days without dying.

(Was it two or three? The last time he’d been tested was a few months ago and that was mostly just a blur.)

(Hopefully three.)

  
  
  


The thought comes out of nowhere, really.

“Do we know their statuses?”

Seungmin spins around to stare at Hyunjin. “Good point. We don’t.”

“Why do we need to know?” Jeongin wonders. “You’re not going to try and control them, are you?”

“No,” Hyunjin says, shuddering. “That would be horrible.”

“But it would narrow down the possibilities,” Seungmin says. “And that would help.”

“Okay,” Jeongin says, brows furrowed. “I don’t think they’ll willingly give it out, though. Unless you’ll promise to put them back together or something.”

“We’ll let Hyunjinnie figure that out,” Seungmin says dryly. Hyunjin laughs despite himself.

“You’re supposed to be helping me!”

  
  
  


Changbin is awoken by the sound of footsteps. Either a guard or an interrogator. 

He keeps his eyes closed and his breathing steady, pretending to be asleep. A strand of hair tickles his nose.

The cell door creaks open and footsteps approach him. A hand taps him on the shoulder: once, twice. Changbin allows himself to move, twitching slightly and then stilling.

A hand grasps his shoulder and shakes him and this time Changbin finally opens his eyes, blinking to make it look like he just woke up.

“Food’s here,” Lee Yongbok says, pointing. There’s a tray in front of him, with a bowl of what looks like oatmeal, a glass of water, and a plastic cup of fruit.

It actually smells decent.

“Are you going to let me have a spoon?”

“Sorry, but no,” Yongbok says, smiling a little. “Can’t risk it, you know.”

Changbin raises a brow. “You have a whole army of guards.”

“And you’re a mini-army,” Yongbok counters, smile falling slightly. Changbin flashes back to when he joint-locked the guy’s arm. “Very scrappy.”

“I should have stabbed you,” Changbin mutters, crossing his legs. He’s tired but he forces himself to concentrate on the person in front of him. 

“The taser was enough,” Yongbok says, no longer smiling. His brows are slightly furrowed and it makes him looks intimidating. “What’s in those, anyway?”

“Metal.”

“Very funny. Well, that metal has a hell of a shock.”

What did he want Changbin to do? Apologize? That would be both stupid and awkward.

“Yes. It does.”

“Speaking from experience?” Yongbok jokes and Changbin glares. “Sorry, sorry.”

The tasers wouldn’t cause permanent damage, anyway. Only high doses of electricity would. All that it did was cause a brief stun period. Highly useful.

“What do you want?” he snaps, the words slipping out despite himself. It’s at times like these when he wishes he had Chan’s composure. “You’re not here to make jokes.”

“I mean, would you want me to make jokes?”

“No. You want something for the food.”

“Or maybe,” Yongbok says, leaning uncomfortably close, “I just want you to not starve.”

“Or maybe,” Changbin imitates, “you just want information out of me.”

Yongbok’s eyes narrow, glittering darkly as he stares down at Changbin. The food is forgotten. “Who knows, pretty?”

His stomach clenches. Changbin blames it on the lack of food and/or water.

“Anyhow,” Yongbok says, leaning back and standing up casually. “Eat up!”

And then he tosses Changbin a smile and strides out. Bastard.

Changbin definitely should have stabbed him.

He’s got no spoon, so Changbin grabs the bowl with his feet and tries to lift it to his mouth. Some of the oatmeal spills onto his shirt. It is, unsurprisingly, cold. He grimaces. 

Cold oatmeal or not, food was food and Changbin knows that in these situations surviving is more important than dignity, so he drinks it sloppily and tries to ignore the way bits of oatmeal drip onto his torso and chin. He’s become soft if that bothers him.

Changbin doesn’t bother trying to drink the water - it really wouldn’t help and the oatmeal had water anyway. The fruit would rot eventually, but he couldn’t exactly try and hold it could he.

He hoped the others were okay. Changbin swears to himself that if he ever escaped, he’d complete their mission. 

It was his duty, after all. 

  
  
  


Chan is  _ not  _ having a good time. 

“Why do you even want to know? It’s none of your business.”

“Actually,” Lee Minho retorts, “it is our business.”

“No it is not.”

“Yes it is.”

“Why would it help you anyway? It’s not like it’s important.”

“You’re not in much place to be questioning us,” Lee says simply. “Tell me. If it isn’t important, just say it.”

“No,” Chan says, scowling.

“And why not? Is it important, then?”

Chan doesn’t hate people.

Except for maybe now.

“It’s intrusive and rude, that’s what.”

“That’s a yes, then.”

Him and his stupid mouth. Chan is normally the most composed one, but now he fumbles over his words. 

“If you don’t want to give us the information,” Lee says, leaning closer, “we can take it by force.”

Blood test. Of course.

“So make your choice,” Lee says. 

What matters most in this situation, Chan wonders? It’s not like they won’t get the information in the end.

“I’ll tell you… if you give me something in return.”

Dignity was never that important anyway.

  
  


Changbin is being moved.

The guards drag him out of the cell. One laughs openly at the mess on his shirt. Changbin is so, incredibly tempted to break his ribs.

They dump him into Chan’s cell and chain him up tightly. Jisung is cuffed to the wall opposite him, staring at a corner.

Chan meets Changbin’s eyes and mouths quietly,  _ I’m sorry. _

What?

_ What for? _

_ They would have found out anyway. _

Changbin’s blood runs cold.

_ You didn’t tell them about fight space. You didn’t. _

_ I didn’t. _

_ Then what? _

“Two subs and a switch,” Hwang says.

_ Chan what the hell. _

_ Language. _

_ I don’t care. What the hell. _

“I can see you two talking, you know,” Hwang comments. Changbin doesn’t think he’s ever cared as little as now.

“What about it?” Jisung snaps, eyes burning. “You’re not going to try and control us, are you?”

Changbin prays that Hwang doesn’t hear the underlying fear in Jisung’s voice. They can’t get captured for this exact reason.

“Of course not,” Hwang says and he actually looks disgusted. “That’s an ethics violation.”

_ What’s ethics?  _ Jisung mouths.

_ Like things that are right or wrong,  _ Chan mouths back.

“We don’t do that in the South,” Hwang continues. “But it’s interesting. Why would the Monarch send a team of subs after us?”

“First of all,” Jisung says furiously, “C is a switch.”

“Second of all,” Changbin continues, “what in the world is  _ that  _ supposed to mean?”

“Third of all,” Chan says, quiet but cold, “you don’t need to know our motivations. Or anything about us.”

“You’re right,” Hwang shrugs. “I don’t need to know. I want to know. Why did you come after us? What did we ever do to you?”

“Does it matter?” Changbin demands. He hates the chains on his wrists. They make him feel weak. Helpless. 

“It does,” Hwang says coolly. “You see, we have a peace treaty with the North. We don’t attack them and they don’t attack us. What you’ve done? It’s a complete violation. We would have the right to kill all three of you and lay siege to the North. But we haven’t.”

He stands up. 

“You know us already. You know that we’re the leaders of the South. So tell me, Chan, Han, Bin. What exactly does your little Monarch want from us?”

  
  
  


The Monarch is angry.

Yui kneels at the foot of the throne, holding up a heavy platter of fruit. Her arms burn with the strain of holding it up, but she doesn’t move. Next to Yui Yui sobs silently, tears rolling down pale cheeks.

Yui doesn’t remember what she was supposed to do. All she knows is that she was supposed to stay there and hold the plate up. If it dropped -

pain rips through her torso

can’t drop the plate, can’t lower it, hold still

be loyal be loyal be lO _ y _ **_a_ ** **L** **_jU_ ** St  _ Be  _ **_lo_ ** yaL  **y** _ o _ **u** a **_r_ ** **e LO** y _ aL y _ **_o_ ** u li **ve** on **l** _ y  _ **_to serve_ **

A rush of relief runs through Yui’s body.

**_you live only to serve_ **

  
  
  


Seungmin isn’t as surprised as Hyunjin expected him to be.

“No doms?” he asks, brows furrowing. “Well, that’ll probably make my life easier.”

“What do you mean?” Hyunjin asks.

“Most assassins are doms,” Seungmin explains. “Something about how they’re harder to control.”

“There are still switch and sub assassins, though,” Hyunjin points out.

“Duh,” Seungmin says. “Like the three living in our basement. Did they say anything more about their names? Ages?”

“No,” Hyunjin says, sitting down. 

“Well, it’s something,” Seungmin sighs. “Which ones were which?”

“The tallest one is a switch; think he said he was Chan,” Hyunjin says. “Squirrel boy Han is apparently a sub and angry guy Bin is also a sub.”

“Squirrel boy?” Seungmin asks, raising a brow as he writes the information down. 

“His cheeks are kind of squirrel-like,” Hyunjin says, gesturing. “It’s sort of cute.”

“Mm,” Seungmin says, turning back to his screens. “Oh yeah - Felix asked me to ask you whether you wanted chocolate chip or blueberry muffins.”

“Chocolate chip, obviously,” Hyunjin scoffs. “People who like blueberry are insane.”

“Maybe you just have bad taste,” Seungmin retorts, closing a window and switching to another one. 

“And you’re a certified crazy guy,” Hyunjin says. “I mean, you’re a Northerner.”

Seungmin tenses and Hyunjin curses his stupidity. “Wait - I mean - ”

“I don’t know, Hyunjin,” Seungmin says, turning to Hyunjin slowly. His face is completely serious except for the slight smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “You said that bees were holy creatures once. Maybe you’re the crazy one.”

“I was on pain meds!”

“You know what they say,” Seungmin teases. “Being high reveals your true self.”

“That’s not a saying!”

“Doesn’t matter,” Seungmin says. “Blueberry far outclasses chocolate chip and that’s a fact.”

Outside the room, a guard pokes her head in and sees Hyunjin bashing Seungmin over the head with a pillow. She stifles a laugh, closes the door silently, and leaves.

“They’re doing okay,” she tells her friend, who is waiting anxiously for her. “Just play fighting.”

Her friend sighs in relief. “Sometimes I forget they’re younger than us.”

“They changed our country,” she reminds her friend as they walk off. “I think they deserve a break. If we hurry, I think we can snag one of Kim’s amazing brownies before they all get consumed.”

“What are you waiting for? Let’s go!”


	5. Thistle Blooms Are the Most Beautiful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I don't know how DnD works, okay? You'll see what I mean later.
> 
> Happy New Year, guys! Hopefully 2021 will be a lot better. We kind of deserve it, after the absolute mess that was 2020. :)
> 
> CW//suffocation (dream only)
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -Jay

Sometimes, Changbin dreams of flowers. Fields of flowers, stretching as far as the eye can see. He’ll wander endlessly through the fields, not knowing where they end or begin. Occasionally he’ll see someone in the distance and try to approach them, but it seems they’re getting further the closer he goes. No future, no past, just an endless present.

It’s kind of soothing.

But sometimes he dreams of stranger things. Blinding flashes of light and suffocating periods of darkness, muffled screams, laughter. 

He dreams he’s in a glass box, on display like some sort of strange animal, chains binding his wrists and feet. Water is steadily filling it, coming from some unknown source. He tries to pull free of the chains, kicks desperately against the glass walls. The water reaches his neck and keeps going, covering his mouth and nose and it’s suddenly a prison of ice and metal, trapping him deep beneath the earth. He can’t breathe, can’t move, can only lie there and feel the oxygen painfully drain out of his lungs.

He passes out and when Changbin next opens his eyes he’s suddenly back in his prison, chained tugging at his wrists. Chan and Jisung are sleeping, their forms barely noticeable in the darkness. The only source of light is a lonely lantern on the other side of the hallway.

Changbin takes a deep breath, tries to forget the crushing pressure on his lungs. Tears prickle hotly at his eyes despite himself and he blinks them back determinedly. Without use of his hands he wouldn’t be able to wipe them away and he’s not letting his interrogators see tear tracks, that’s for sure.

“B?”

Chan’s whisper is barely noticeable, but Changbin’s got good ears. Jisung’s form shifts but he doesn’t wake up.

“Bad dream?”

As much as Changbin would like to speak, his throat feels closed off and tight so he doesn’t, simply nodding. 

“You want to… ”

The unsaid  _ drop  _ is louder than anything Changbin’s heard.

_ Do it,  _ his body pleads.  _ You’ve been tired all the time. Just do it. _

_ But I don’t want to,  _ his brain retorts.

“No,” he whispers. His voice comes out hoarse and Changbin resists the temptation to clear his throat. That would wake Jisung. 

Chan’s brows furrow. The light casts deep shadows over his face. “Why?”

There’s a million reasons why and if he thinks really hard, Changbin could probably come up with a million more. He shrugs in response, avoiding Chan’s eyes in favour of watching the flickering light.

Chan sighs softly but doesn’t press further and for that Changbin is grateful.

A few hours pass and eventually the light flickers once, twice, then turns off. Changbin twists his head to the side and watches the steady rise and fall of Chan’s chest, wishing he could fall asleep as well. He’ll become an insomniac at this point.

“Everyone up!” a guard yells, passing by. Changbin doesn’t bother hiding his glare. Chan blinks awake, brows furrowed, and Jisung snaps to attention, startled out of sleep.

“Ey, you,” another guard snaps, entering. “Get up. You have three minutes to relieve yourself.”

Changbin allows himself to be pulled up but doesn’t let them drag him unlike last time, speeding up a bit so he’s walking in step with them. He feels like a dog and it’s irritating.

They throw him a change of clothes once he’s done and he changes quickly, glad to be out of his old ones. There’s a cracked tile in the upper left corner of the bathroom, he notes. Changbin isn’t going to just leave without his team, but that’s something to remember.

Chan is in the cell when Changbin returns. Jisung gets dragged in while Changbin is being chained back to the wall. They meet eyes across the room. As the door shuts, Jisung twists his hand a little in their symbol for  _ information. _

Changbin copies the motion. Chan doesn’t but watches the door, making sure no guards are nearby.

It’ll be suspicious if they just start talking about bathroom tiles, so Changbin points upwards and then makes the sign for left. Jisung nods inperceptibly, a signal to keep going.

“Remember when we were sparring and I hit you too hard, making you trip and accidentally  _ crack _ your wrist?” he says.

“Oh, shut up,” Jisung says, rolling his eyes as he points down and then makes the sign for right. “Remember when we were sneaking through a building and you sneezed so hard you alerted the guards while we were in the  _ vent _ ?”

“Don’t remind me,” Changbin sighs, leaning back. 

“You’re both clumsy idiots,” Chan comments. “I’ve never done any of that.”

“Because you’re too cautious,” Jisung teases. “You’re always going  _ oh no, check the wind speed? What about the altitude? Don’t climb that without a harness!” _

“You would have fallen and died without the harness, so shut up,” Chan retorts. “You’re just mad that you got tangled in the harness and we had to get you out.”

“You tied it wrong!”

None of this actually happened, thankfully, but it was funny to hear anyway. Changbin likes to think that he would have more control than what Jisung described, but coming up with the stupidest situations possible was a great way to spend their time in here.

He’s brought back to reality by the statement, “Look. They were evil, evil ducklings and you know it.”

“They were sitting there.”

“ _ Evilly.” _

Changbin doesn’t know the context of that phrase but it elicits a snicker anyway. “They were ducklings. Just little babies.”

“Pure evil, B. Did you see their eyes? They held nothing but hatred and anger.”

“Or, you were just overreacting,” Changbin offers.

“ _ They stole my breadsticks, B!” _

The prisoners a few cells away are cracking up at their rather loud conversation. Changbin flicks a quick look towards the guards to make sure they’re not suspicious. Thankfully, they’re just sitting at the end of the hallway, looking bored.

Jisung finally calms down about the imaginary ducklings who had stolen his imaginary breadsticks, muttering something about  _ ‘fake friends’  _ and  _ ‘the betrayal, my gosh’.  _ Chan looks like he’s trying not to laugh, lips pressed together. Changbin doesn’t bother resisting the urge.

The urge fades away quickly when the footsteps of a certain few annoying interrogators approach them. Jisung’s face smoothes out quickly and Chan sits up, watching the door intently.

Lee Minho strolls in first, eyeing them with something like displeasure. Hwang shadows him, standing close to the door.

“I’d like to ask you a few things,” Lee says bluntly, sitting down, “which I’m sure you’ll all be very pleased to answer.”

Right.

“What do you want,” Jisung snaps.

“You’re rather impolite, aren’t you,” Lee comments, leaning back. “I’m simply trying to ask a few questions here.”

“Cut to the chase,” Chan says coolly, cutting off whatever snarky retort Jisung was about to say. “What are your questions.”

“They’re fairly simple,” Lee says. “You all have threat levels. What’s yours?”

Changbin frowns. “What’s the point of this?”

“Curiosity, maybe. We’re not asking for your motivations, so you have no need to know ours.”

Changbin is no expert in this so he sighs through his teeth and looks to Chan. Jisung doesn’t respond, having a glaring match with Hwang in the corner. 

“What will we get in return?” Chan asks eventually.

Lee shrugs. “We’ll negotiate. What would you like?”

“Freedom,” Changbin mutters sarcastically under his breath.

Chan crosses his legs. Changbin wonders if he could telepathically project into Chan’s mind what he wanted. Spoons, mostly.

“Eating utensils,” is what Chan decides on. 

“Eating utensils,” Lee muses. “For that, we’ll want your threat level and your group codename.”

“No codename.”

“Threat level and full name of one of you.”

“No.”

“Threat level and another letter from each of your names.”

Chan glances from Jisung to Changbin. Jisung shakes his head. Changbin shrugs.  _ Your call,  _ he mouths. Eating utensils would be useful if they could steal one. Hopefully they could.

“Okay,” Chan says eventually. “Our team threat level is F.”

Barely below the highest level, Changbin knows. They’d have to complete more missions to get the coveted rank of F+.

It would have been this one, he realizes bitterly. But they’d already given too much information already. And they’d even failed what was supposed to be their failsafe. Maybe if Changbin could bring down the leaders, Chan and Jisung could at least be spared. He was the longest-trained member, he could take responsibility.

(He doesn’t know and uncertainty is the final, delicate thread between life and death, but he has to  _ try.) _

“Another letter in my name is B,” Chan says.

“E,” Changbin settles on.

“I,” Jisung says.

“Wonderful,” Lee says. “Your next meal will have eating utensils for you to use, though you will of course be closely monitored.” He smiles. “That will be all.”

“I don’t like this,” Jisung mutters once the guards, Lee, and Hwang are all out of earshot. “Not at all. Any information - ”

“Can be used against you,” Chan sighs. “I know.”

“We’ll have to hope,” Changbin says. The unsaid  _ that it was worth it  _ rings clear as day between them.

_ Hope is flimsy,  _ he remembers an instructor telling him once. Changbin had had some strange instructors.  _ What even is it? Some strange four-letter word. You can never touch it. It does nothing for you but provide false dreams and aspirations. It’s uncertain. Vile. Your actions and motivations should be devoted to the Monarch and the Monarch only. _

It’d be okay though, right? To have this care towards others if it was in service of the Monarch? It was all in his service in the end so it would be okay, right?

It has to be.

  
  


Sometimes, Jeongin gets frustrated.

He loves them, he really does. They found him when he was on the streets, not knowing where his next meal would be, and brought him in. For what felt like most of Jeongin’s life it had been him and the others, just the four of them and a dream.

And then Seungmin had come along, in what was probably 60 pounds soaking wet of scared and snappy teenager, and Jeongin had taken to him like a moth to a flame. Or in Seungmin’s words, like a butterfly to a flower.

Seungmin was quiet and analytical and didn’t treat Jeongin as a kid so much as he did treat Jeongin like a soft, human-sized comfort pillow. The feeling was kind of nice.

He’d never had a role; at least, he’d never felt like it. Minho was their leader and resident poisons expert, Hyunjin was their interrogator and PR guy along with Felix, everyone’s favourite diplomat, and Seungmin completed the quadruplet with his intelligence and knowledge about the North. And Jeongin just kind of fifth-wheeled along with them.

“You’re our peacemaker, of course,” Felix had said cheerfully when Jeongin had went to him with his concerns. “Our little Jeonginnie.”

That was sweet and all, Jeongin had wanted to say, but you’re the peacemaker, not me. You’re literally the diplomat. That’s your title.

“Why should it matter?” Seungmin had asked. “You’re important to us, especially me.”

And that was also sweet, but it really didn’t help  _ at all  _ and Jeongin had been very tempted to say that and maybe scream a little before deciding it wasn’t worth it. He was just being silly and overthinking. He had a role, right?

Right.

What was he even doing? Jeongin wondered one night, staring at the moon. He had no skills except being decent at diplomacy, which wasn’t needed, decent at fighting which all of them were, and acting intimidating, which Minho and Seungmin easily filled without trying. 

Honestly, he’d call it an identity crisis if he didn’t feel so stupid saying that. It wasn’t that serious. Kind of.

But he couldn’t focus on that now, he reminds himself. They’ve got three North assassins sitting in their basement and Jeongin has to do  _ something.  _

He just doesn’t know what.

So he goes to the one person who can generally be depended on to help him; Seungmin.

“Is there something I can do?” he asks, knocking on the wall so as not to startled his boyfriend. Seungmin spins around, smiling a little.

“Do you want to help me organize these tables?”

“Sounds boring,” Jeongin jokes. Seungmin smiles wider. “Anything else?”

“I’m not sure,” Seungmin says after a moment of thought. “You’d have to ask Minho. Last I saw him, he was headed to his office.”

“Got it,” Jeongin says. “Thanks, Minnie.”

“No problem,” Seungmin says, turning back to his tables. Jeongin closes the door softly and leaves for Minho’s office.

“Is there anything I can do?”

Minho looks up, holding a twisted fork in one hand and a plate of steaming spaghetti in the other.

“... never mind.”

That was, Jeongin decides, not helpful at all. Not to his not-identity crisis, not to his current boredom.

So he does what all people with three assassins trapped in the basement would do; visit the assassins.

With a nice game of DnD.

(Look, Jeongin was bored and other attempts to befriend them had failed so this might work, okay?)

The guards eye him oddly when he walks in but don’t question it, escorting him to the cell. Jeongin enters and promptly sits down, waving a little hello. No one waves back; all of them eye him with suspicion in their eyes.

“We’re going to play a game,” is what he settles on saying. It sounded too menacing, so he tries to lighten it up by smiling a little. “Have you ever heard of Dungeons and Dragons?”

The guy to his left doesn’t answer. Neither does the guy directly in front. But the person to his right leans forwards a little.

“It’s an RPG game,” Jeongin says, fully committed to whatever this is. “I’ll be the DM, which means that I’m the one who makes the story and bosses. You’ll all be the players, which means you’ll be the ones progressing through the story. You’ll have to work together to beat it. Got it?”

Everyone nods. 

“Great,” Jeongin says. “You’ll all pick characters from the basic six and those will determine your in-game strengths and weaknesses. You’ll also have to pick alignments from the nine.” He pauses.

“So, who wants to be a fighter character?”

The boy to his left volunteers. “Sure.”

“Great,” Jeongin says, beaming. “Pick an alignment. Good, Neutral, or Chaotic?”

Left Boy shrugs. “Neutral.”

“Chaotic, Lawful, or Neutral?”

Another shrug. “I guess… chaotic?”

“You’re a chaotic neutral fighter, sweet,” Jeongin says. “I’ll roll for you. What do you want the name to be?”

Left Boy shrugs. “I don’t know… uh… AO0161?”

Weird name, but Jeongin doesn’t comment on it. He writes it down quickly, along with the stats. AO0161 has high constitution, decent strength and dexterity, with mediocre wisdom, charisma, and intelligence.

“You next,” Jeongin says. “Do you want to be fighter, cleric, magic-user, thief, dwarf, halfling, or elf?”

The boy directly in front decides on neutral good cleric and Right Boy goes for chaotic good thief. 

“Names?”

“BO0161,” Right Boy says. Jeongin laughs a little at that.

“CO0161,” Cleric Boy says.

“Wonderful,” Jeongin says, rolling for CO0161, then BO0161. CO0161 gets high wisdom and intelligence, with decent dexterity and bad charisma, strength, and constitution. BO0161 gets high charisma and dexterity, decent constitution, and bad everything else.

“Alright, so these are your stats,” Jeongin says, sliding the sheets over to each person. He unfolds the board - it’s an old one but that doesn’t matter - and sets out the dice. “I’ll basically be walking you through scenarios or ‘dungeons’ of sorts. Ready?”

“Mm.”

“Yes.”

“Yeah.”

“Great,” Jeongin says. “Let’s go. You all start in a long, dark corridor, in front of a locked door. At the end of the hallway, there’s a light.”

“I pick the locked door,” BO0161 says immediately. 

“That’s an action, so I’ll roll a number,” Jeongin says, holding up D20. “You get a seven. But, you have high dexterity, so you pick it successfully. Unfortunately, at the other end of the door is an evil rogue who wants to kill you all. What do you do?”

“Do I have any weapons?” AO0161 asks.

“You have a sword and knives.”

“Swords are old and useless in this modern era. Do I have a taser?”

“... sure.”

“I tase him.”

“Alright, let’s roll,” Jeongin says. “Wow, 14. Alright, you tase him and he falls over, stunned.”

“Can I steal his things?” BO0161 asks.

“Sure. You rolled a 16. Okay, you steal all of his things but the stun period doesn’t last very long so he’ll be up soon. What do you do?”

“Run,” CO0161 offers.

“Roll to run… ouch. You only get a 10. So, BO0161 and AO0161 successfully flee, while CO0161 is left behind.”

“Can I kill the rogue?”

“With your knives?”

“Or with my taser, doesn’t matter.”

“How would you - never mind. Okay, you roll a 19. You slit the rogue’s throat, but your cleric is injured.”

“I’ll heal myself,” CO0161 says.

“You roll 12, so yeah. You patch yourself up and continue with the rest of your group. There’s a town up ahead - do you go there?”

The three players look at each other, then CO0161 shrugs. “Sure.”

“The town is welcoming to you,” Jeongin says. “They have a market and an inn. Which do you visit first?”

“Market,” BO0161 says. “Can I steal something?”

“Don’t do it,” AO0161 says. “It’s daytime.”

“Good point. Inn?”

“Inn,” CO0161 agrees.

“Inn.”

“The innkeeper seems unwilling to let you all in, seeing that you all look rather dirty.”

“Can C convince him?” AO0161 asks.

“Sure. CO0161, you want to try?”

CO0161 frowns at his sheet. “Don’t I have low charisma?”

“You do,” Jeongin agrees, smiling. “BO0161 has the highest charisma.”

“Wait, but he’s got horrible diplomacy,” AO0161 says.

“Not in-game,” Jeongin says. “Give it a shot, BO0161.”

“Eh, why not,” BO0161 says. “I try to convince him that we’re harmless.”

“You roll a one, so tough luck. He’s a bit skeptical and asks you all to get out.”

“Get C to convince him,” AO0161 says. 

“That’s a horrible idea,” C points out.

“Well we’ve had one failure already. Maybe you’ll get lucky.”

In the end, C rolls to convince him and manages to land a 17. The innkeeper lets them, but only for the night.

  
  


Felix walks in just as AO0161 asks, “Can I hit BO0161 over the head?”

“You won’t even have to roll for that,” CO0161 says. 

“Okay, rude.”

“You  _ stole  _ their underpants! And failed! In broad daylight in a field with absolutely no cover in a foreign land! Which you should never do!”

“Should I go?” Felix asks, smiling amusedly.

“We’re playing DnD,” Jeongin says cheerfully. “You want to join?”

“I’ll watch,” Felix says, sitting down. “It seems lively.”

CO0161 has joined in with AO0161 in their determined criticism of BO0161’s actions. “To top it off, you tried to convince them that you hadn’t stolen their underpants, while holding their underpants!”

“It was funny!” BO0161 protests.

“It was  _ stupid.” _

“And then I had to tase like five of them so you could get away!”

“Alright, calm down,” Jeongin says, muffling a laugh. AO0161 glares at him and then at Felix. “We’ve got a guest, as you can see. Please try not to rip each other’s heads off.”

No one moves for a moment, all three eyeing Felix with suspicion. 

“I can leave if you want,” Felix whispers to Jeongin. 

“No, it’s okay,” Jeongin whispers back. Louder, he says, “So. You’ve just successfully fled a group of bandits who you stole their underwear from. You’re now wanted across three towns and by one, very angry dragon.”

“I volunteer to dump BO0161 in a river.”

“You’re a team,” Jeongin says, laughing. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“Only in-game we shouldn’t,” AO0161 mutters, glaring at the floor. 

“You have also uncovered a plot while stealing from the dragon to kill King Thrysus of the Seven Seas. What do you do?”

“Will he pay us for saving him?” CO0161 asks.

“Maybe.”

“Then nothing.”

Jeongin snickers. “Aren’t you both good?”

“Not me,” AO0161 says. 

“None of you are bad, per se, so shouldn’t you try to save King Thrysus?”

“Is he a bad person?” BO0161 asks suspiciously. 

“Maybe.”

“Then why should we?”

“He could be good,” Jeongin points out. “We don’t know.”

“You mean  _ we  _ don’t know,” AO0161 says. “You know.”

“For the purposes of the game, no I don’t,” Jeongin says. “You’re foreign to this place, so you know nothing of King Thrysus.”

“Can we ask someone?” CO0161 says.

“Yes, but you’re wanted by many,” Jeongin says, “so be careful.”

“I roll to ask the closest person that isn’t one of us,” B says.

“Five, tough luck. You ask and he immediately tries to kill you. He’s a bounty hunter.”

AO0161 and CO0161 groan at the exact same time. BO0161 shrugs guiltily.

“Sorry.”

  
  


Hyunjin walks in while BO0161 is attempting to seduce everyone around after having discovered that the option existed and AO0161 and CO0161 are both trying to stop him.

“I roll to dance for him.”

“Please don’t,” AO0161 groans.

“Can your thief even dance?”

The three assassins share a look that says something interesting. Jeongin’s not sure what it is and he doesn’t press. “You know what, sure. Roll to dance… 1. You fall over and make a fool of yourself.”

“I’m going to succeed someday. Roll to - ”

“Now is not that day,” CO0161 cuts in. “Roll to drag him off.”

“2. You fail miserably and cause a terrible commotion.”

“Roll,” AO0161 says tiredly, “to knock out all the incoming guards and sneak into the palace.”

“19. You knock out all the guards, don their armour, and go into the palace.”

“What about us?” BO0161 asks. “Can I roll to go after him?”

“You get a five.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Sorry,” Jeongin says, shrugging. “You get stopped by one of the servants.”

“Roll to seduce him.”

“Stop seducing everyone!”

“Never.”

“What’s going on?” Hyunjin asks. “Why are you all playing DnD?”

“I thought it’d be fun,” Jeongin says. The three assassins have gone silent.

“Well, Minho’s asking for you,” Hyunjin says. “Meeting.”

Jeongin sighs. “Guess that’s all for today.” He folds the board back up and puts all the materials back in the box. “I might be back tomorrow, we’ll see.”

“Let’s go,” Felix says, standing. “Bye!”

“Bye!” Jeongin echoes. No one says goodbye back, sadly. That’s okay, though. Progress is progress, after all.

  
  


Changbin pulls his knees up to his chest and promptly buries his face into them.

Reality check, he tells himself. You’re an assassin and you’re here on a job, not to play games with the enemy. In the North, he’d be punished for doing something like that immediately.

Chan and Jisung are both silent. The… maybe not happy but playful mood has faded away. 

“We shouldn’t have done that,” Chan whispers. “We shouldn’t have.”

Jisung doesn’t say anything, staring blankly at a wall. 

“I know,” Changbin says quietly. “It… would it be treason?”

Chan doesn’t respond, crossing and uncrossing his legs. 

He hates this. 

Changbin normally likes silence, likes the calm it brings, but this silence is daunting. It’s not the happy kind of silence, not the silence that comes on a peaceful spring morning or the silence that comes before rain. It’s the silence before the storm, the falsely still moment before everything starts falling down.

They have to escape. They have to get out soon and finish their mission before it’s too late. He looks up, meets Chan’s eyes and then Jisung’s. Their eyes say the exact same thing.

_ Tonight?  _ Changbin mouths.

Chan shakes his head inperceptibly.  _ Wait week. Steal utensil. Escape. _

This is it. They’ve already gotten too many chances; they can’t afford to waste this one.

Changbin leans back and watches the guards on patrol. This isn’t their first escape, but it definitely feels like the last.

  
  
  


Minho is no longer holding a spoon and plate of spaghetti when Jeongin walks in with Hyunjin and Felix, but he is holding a folder with Seungmin standing silently behind him. Like a magnet, Jeongin’s eyes are drawn to Seungmin’s. He tilts his head in question;  _ good or bad? _

Seungmin shakes his head a little;  _ bad.  _ They would tread more carefully this meeting. As much as Jeongin would love to immediately hug his boyfriend, he refrains from doing so and stands a little near the back of the room, observing.

“Threat level F,” Minho sighs eventually. “That’s nearly the highest level, just below F+.”

“If I may,” Felix says.

“Go ahead.”

“Why have you called us here?” Felix asks. “Did you find something important?”

“We can’t,” Seungmin says this time, meeting Jeongin’s eyes across the room. A small smile crosses his face, barely noticeable. “The security’s too tight. I haven’t found a way to get past it without them detecting us. Getting in range would help.”

“How?” Hyunjin asks. “Their border guard would catch us for sure.”

Jeongin frowns. “Then how - ”

“Anyway,” Minho says firmly. “I’ve called you all here to decide what we’re going to do. We’re no closer to figuring out their motivations or who they are or how they even got here in the first place. They’re not going to give it up without either a miracle or something that is far less than ethical. So I have to ask you all today; is this really worth it?”

“What are you saying?” Felix asks.

“Should we kill them,” Seungmin says, “or no.”

“I’m going to say yes,” Minho sighs. “There’s no reason to keep them around.”

Jeongin opens his mouth to speak but Hyunjin beats him to the chase. “Yes,” he sighs. “We haven’t gotten enough information and the cost isn’t worth it.”

“No,” Felix says next. “I think that we might be able to figure something if we give it more time.”

“I - ” Jeongin is about to say but Seungmin cuts him off. Jeongin sighs, slumping. 

“No.”

What?

Jeongin looks up, surprised. Seungmin meets his eyes and shakes his head. 

“On one hand, they’re a liability. A pretty big liability. But… ”

“But what?” Hyunjin asks.

“But I know the North better than all of you,” Seungmin says. “There’s something here we haven’t figured out yet. I… I think we should keep them around. For maybe a bit more.”

“You’re our tiebreaker, Jeongin,” Minho says and they finally turn to him, like he wasn’t there all along. “What do you think?”

Jeongin bites his lip anxiously. He doesn’t want to kill them… but Minho did have a point. They weren’t getting anywhere.

Still, they had to try, right?

“I’m going to agree with Minnie here,” he says. The pet name rolls off his tongue easily. “I think I might be able to figure something out.”

Minho frowns but nods. “Alright, that’s that. They’ll stay alive for maybe a month and if we can’t figure out enough about them by the end of that period, they’re dead. Everyone agree?”

“Okay,” Felix says.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin says.

“Alright,” Seungmin nods.

“That’s fine,” Jeongin says. The game of DnD tucked under his arm feels brittle and he readjusts his grip. 

He’d just have to work fast. Jeongin hasn’t given up on something once in his life and he won’t start now.

  
  


IN is back sooner than expected, this time with a different person. Changbin studies their face carefully, trying to recall who it was. Not Lee, not Yongbok, not Hwang. Who was the other one? Either Yang Jeongin or Kim Seungmin.

Huh.

“Don’t worry about him, he’s just here because he’s curious,” IN says cheerfully. “You ready to keep going?”

Changbin looks to Chan, silently asking for his verdict. It would seem suspicious if they said no, but saying yes would be a further betrayal of their country.

Chan nods and gives Changbin a quick look.  _ One more,  _ it seems to say.  _ Just a little more. It’s fine if it’s for the Monarch in the end. _

_ Okay,  _ Changbin agrees reluctantly.  _ Okay. _

IN sets up the board and passes them their character papers. Changbin glances down at his; AO0161.

Memories of that time are vague and blurry. Changbin’s never been able to piece together exactly what had happened and he’s not sure he wants to. Besides, he liked having a name. It was his.

“So,” IN says. “A, you’re in the castle. B, you’ve been stopped from entering by a servant and are trying to seduce them. C, you’ve been forced away by the guards.”

“Are you going to roll for seduction?”

“Of course,” IN says, rolling a die. “Ooh, 20. Nice. The servant falls immediately in love with you and is so in love they start trying to kiss you.”

“Ew. Roll to knock him out.”

“18. You knock him out; what now?”

“Can I steal his clothes?”

“Sure. You steal his clothes and hide the body in a nearby closet. C, what are you doing during all this?”

“Sneaking back in.”

“You roll a 17, not bad. Alright, you’ve successfully made it to the door and have entered, reuniting with B. A, what are you doing?”

“Try and find the kitchen.”

“Roll for perception… 1. You have no idea where you’re going and accidentally walk into the throne room.”

“Can I sneak after A?”

“Well you rolled 19 so yeah. You follow A without anyone noticing anything strange and end up in the throne room. The king is furious at someone coming in without notice and starts yelling at you.”

“I stand there. Do I have to roll to stand there?”

“Guess not. B, C?”

“I steal his crown.”

“I try and stop B from stealing his crown.”

“You rolled a 13 to steal and C you rolled an 11 to hold him back so B, you end up stealing the crown while everyone is distracted by C. A?”

“Roll to get out before they notice.”

“4. Everyone notices you climbing out the window and they chase after you.”

“Roll to fight off the guards.”

“And you roll an 18, not bad. You tase the guards. The king is yelling bloody murder.”

“Roll to get out before more guards come in,” Changbin, Chan, and Jisung say in unison.

“15, so you all manage to get out. You’re now wanted across the entire country.”

Goddammit, Jisung.

“Can we leave to a different country?” Chan asks. 

“There’s a ship leaving the country soon and you’re close to the harbour.”

“Roll to sneak on,” Jisung says.

“10, but you’ve got enough dexterity so you get on.”

“Roll to sneak on.”

“Roll to sneak on.”

“14 and 19. Both of you are able to get on the boat.”

  
  


Jeongin leaves feeling satisfied, game tucked under his arm. Seungmin trails behind him, seemingly deep in thought.

“What did you think, Minnie?” he asks. 

“It’s unorthodox for sure,” Seungmin says. “But… hm. What did you call them? A, B, C?”

“They named themselves,” Jeongin says, happy to be acknowledged. “AO0161, BO0161, CO0161.”

“That’s strange,” Seungmin says, furrowing his brows. “Interesting, though. I’ll have to keep that in mind. Playing, uh… ”

“DnD,” Jeongin supplies.

“DnD is an odd interrogation strategy,” Seungmin says. “But… what works works.”

Jeongin feels his heart melt at Seungmin’s sweet smile. Gosh, he loves him. “You’ve changed a lot from the scared kid we found at the border.”

Seungmin laughs. “I hope I did. It’s… I’d be lying if I said I was all better. But I’m getting there.” 


	6. Count Your Blessings, One By One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I am baaack on my bullshit! :D
> 
> Seriously though, I am so sorry for the late update. School is being a jerk (as usual) and I don't have as much time to write, so I have to concentrate on my more important stuff for now. But I have finally managed to get this chapter out.
> 
> Honestly, this story feels like it's getting messier by the minute. Thank you to all the people who are reading this for sticking with me as I drag y'all through this odd world of mine (credit goes to elle_O_moonchild once more for the inspiration on this).
> 
> CW//panic attack, panic
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -Jay

Jisung is the first one to successfully nab a spoon.

He never says it outright, but Changbin can tell he’s gloating about it. They shove the spoon in a crevice in the walls and cover it with dirt so it looks normal.

From then on, it’s a competition between Chan and Changbin to grab an utensil first. Changbin manages to steal a small fork and hide it in the floor. Chan is the loser, though he does nab a knife and conceals it between the floor and the wall.

Now, all they have to do is wait until night falls. Changbin estimates maybe three or so hours.

Waiting is always one of the most excruciating parts of a mission and, like many painful things, one of the most important. It’s been drilled into him, over and over again, that patience is key. The words remain, but nothing else does.

_ Sleep,  _ Chan mouths when he sees how tense Changbin is.  _ I’ll wake you. _

_ You sleep,  _ Changbin mouths back.  _ You need it. _

_ You sleep. _

_ No you. _

Chan’s face doesn’t change but Changbin can sense the slight amusement radiating off of him. 

_ Both of you sleep,  _ Jisung interrupts.  _ I’ll wake y’all. _

It takes quite a bit of energy to stop himself from laughing. Changbin crosses his legs and closes his eyes for a moment. Somewhere between one breath and the other, he falls asleep.

  
  


They eat their meal in silence, as always. It feels more ominous now. The guards stand over them, watchful. Changbin’s just glad to be able to use a spoon.

What’s he going to do? he wonders. They failed. Even if they managed to take out the leaders, they’d been captured. It would be better to be dead.

Changbin hates his mind sometimes but that’s part of the job. You can never overthink too much. Every situation needs to be considered.

They’d never considered this.

They’d been arrogant. Too certain of their success, too proud to give up. He wants to feel anger but all he feels is exhaustion.

  
  


IN comes in, smiling as always, and wordlessly unpacks the game. It’s the last and he doesn’t know.

Changbin feels like he’s walking on wires the whole time. He wouldn’t regret taking out the others, but IN is sweet and reminds Changbin of the kids he’d see in the palace sometimes. Changbin isn’t a very soft person for obvious reasons, but kids always make his heart melt a little. They’re right up there with dogs, which he sees around once in a blue moon, and cats.

They end the game after an hour or so. Their squad of three had successfully fled a country and then Jisung’s character promptly seduced a dragon to steal its treasure. Changbin has to fight it off with Chan healing him throughout.

Normally he would find it funny or at least feel some sort of exasperation, but he just feels tired. Probably not a good thing, he knows, but what can you do.

  
  


It’s evening now and the guards come in with a meal. Changbin doesn’t know the time, but he thinks it might be around 8:30 PM.

They’re unchained to eat. Changbin grasps the fork and starts eating as normal, waiting. Just a bit further down the hallway, a few guards make a turn and disappear.

Chan moves first, nudging Jisung’s leg and whispering, “Squirrel.”

“What?” one of the guards snaps.

“Silent take down.”

They never see it coming. 

Jisung moves, fast as a, well, squirrel. He grabs one of the guards and throws them into the wall with enough force to concuss them. Changbin rips away a comm from one and grabs their pistol, quickly shooting the other few guards that remain conscious. Chan grabs the final guard and delivers a sharp blow to their temple, knocking them out.

And just like that, it’s done. They’re free.

The pistol is silent, but other guards will be coming soon so they have to act fast. Jisung and Changbin tie up as many as they can, grabbing their utensils and some weapons while Chan unlocks the door and they run for a bathroom. 

Using the spoon and knife, Chan and Jisung pry open the vent cover while Changbin locks the bathroom door. They drop in quickly and Changbin hurriedly pulls the cover closed over them.

_ Which way?  _ he mouths.

Chan shrugs but points in a random direction. They’ll have to hope Lady Luck is on their side.

Crawling in such a tight space always makes Changbin rather uncomfortable, but he determinedly pushes that to the back of his mind. Adrenaline pumps hot and heavy through his veins, druglike in its intensity. They have to move, they have to leave, they have to get out. This is it. Can’t fail now; shouldn’t have failed  _ ever. _

Where will they go? he wonders as they crawl. Will they stay in the South to finish their mission? Or will they head back North? Where can they go?

Those, he decides, are questions for future Changbin to answer. He’s got to escape first.

So they keep crawling. 

  
  


At some point, Jisung comes back up from space, blinking fast. Chan and Changbin pause for a moment, letting him reorient himself. Fight space is powerful, but it always leaves you exhausted after. He’s kind of jealous of Jisung, who isn’t as strong as Changbin in space but doesn’t immediately feel like collapsing after.

A good half-minute later they’re moving again. Footsteps pound over them; probably guards having been alerted of their escape. They’d better move fast; Changbin does  _ not  _ fancy a fight in a tight narrow metal vent.

Chan starts climbing down and wordlessly Changbin and Jisung follow him, automatically holding onto each other as they shimmy down the vent. 

  
  


_ “Fuck.” _

Seungmin grimaces a little out of the corner of his eye. Minho sighs, pressing his face into his hands. “Sorry, Minnie.”

“S’okay,” Seungmin says. Jeongin is holding onto him like Seungmin is a lifeline and Seungmin’s hands are curled tightly into the back of Jeongin’s shirt. “I’m just tense.”

“A little?” Hyunjin demands, sounding mildly panicked. Minho can hardly blame him. “Three assassins just beat up several of our guards without anyone noticing and disappeared, probably into our ventilation system or some shit. We are well beyond tense. We have entered the realm of  _ oh fuck  _ and either we die or catch the terror triplets and - ”

“Hyunjin,” Minho says softly, but with steel in his voice. “That’s enough.”

“We’re all a little stressed right now,” Felix says placatingly, holding up his hands, “so maybe let’s relax and take a bit of time to think about this situation.”

Hyunjin takes a deep breath, seemingly to say something, but Jeongin looks up and says firmly,  _ “Stop.” _

“Innie - ”

“We’re being unreasonable,” Jeongin says. “Let’s… let’s just try and find them first, okay?”

There’s a moment of stillness, and then Minho nods stiffly. “Seungmin, do you have cameras in the vents or something?”

“No,” Seungmin says. “I’ll keep an eye on the outside cameras and the ones near our room; that’s where they’ll probably go.”

“Good,” Minho says. “Hyunjin, Felix, get in contact with the guards.”

“What do I do?” Jeongin asks.

“Help me get everyone in this place under control,” Minho says, wheeling over to a mic. Seungmin turns to the monitor on the wall. Hyunjin and Felix are talking in low voices on the bed.

When had everything spiraled so out of control?

  
  


The sewers are gross. Changbin wonders, for a fleeting moment, how he was able to easily stomach killing people but hated being in somewhere as plain as a sewer. Psychology for future him to consider, he supposed. Or maybe not, depending on how this would go.

Climbing down through the vents was a nightmare and a half. He hated small spaces already, but he hates them even more now. Changbin doesn’t know how Jisung and Chan are able to handle it. 

At this point, they’d probably be wanted across the whole country. Worst of all, they don’t have their masks anymore to conceal themselves. Neither do they have their own stuff; no uniform, none of their actual weaponry, no comms. It’s probably been burnt or recycled. They’re stranded in an unfamiliar land, surrounded by enemies.

“How are we going to do it?” Jisung wonders out loud as they swing across some poles on the ceiling. Changbin drops down lightly, wincing at the sound his feet make on landing. He’s out of practice and it’s obvious.

“I don’t know,” Chan sighs, landing next to Changbin. “We’ve lost our biggest advantages; surprise and supplies. They know we’re somewhere here and they know the terrain.”

“We have to,” Jisung insists. “We’ve never failed before. We can’t fail!”

Changbin reaches out hesitantly and Jisung collapses into his arms. “There’s no where left for us, B. Not unless we do this.”

“How?” Changbin asks. His voice feels rusty. “What… how do we do this? It’s nearly impossible. We should have been dead ages ago.”

Chan comes up and awkwardly hugs Changbin. The ledge they’re standing on doesn’t help the hug situation either, but they make the best of it. After days without being able to touch each other, the sensation of physical contact is a relief. Changbin had no idea now much he’d missed it.

“We’ll figure it out,” Chan says into the broken silence. “I’ll figure it out. Let’s… let’s just get out of here.”

Finally, they start moving again. Changbin grips on to Jisung’s and Chan’s hands as they edge their way through the sewer, balancing delicately on the ledge.

It feels like some big metaphor for his life, he thinks bitterly. Everything’s fine, and then it starts to all fall down. Like dominoes.

No one likes dominoes.

  
  


They’re not anywhere in the house, as far as Seungmin can tell. No guards have found them. At least Minho and Jeongin have managed to calm everyone down and herd them into safe spots.

Seungmin flicks through the remaining camera feed, searching once more. No trace of them around the house. Gone, like ghosts.

Some might say that the suspense is the best part, but Seungmin begs to disagree. Especially if the suspense is whether or not the terror triplets, as Hyunjin has aptly nicknamed them, will show up and try to kill them all.

He rewinds the footage, down to the basement. They’d had a few cameras break recently and the replacements were supposed to come tomorrow. Their remaining cameras weren’t covering the hallway terror trio were in. 

Dumb luck, Seungmin thinks bitterly. Dumb luck. That was what really drove them deeper into this pit of messed up. Maybe it’s a bad thing and probably some lingering sign of his time way up North, but he  _ hates  _ that sort of thing. As much as he would like to, Seungmin can’t control everything. He tries to shape the world around him as much as he can, tries to forge it to be more beautiful, but there’s always something that remains out of his grasp.

Not good? Probably.

Does he care? He should, but right now he can’t bring himself to.

“What are you thinking?” Jeongin asks, sitting down next to Seungmin. His voice is soft and gentle and exactly what Seungmin needs.

He doesn’t speak, just leaning into Jeongin’s side and relishing the contact. He doubts he can speak right now.

Jeongin is amazing as always and knows how to handle Seungmin when he’s feeling like this, not bothering to press more and instead pulling him into a gentle hug. Seungmin relaxes into the physical contact.

God, he loves his boyfriend.

“I’m worried,” he says quietly into Jeongin’s shirt. “About what’s going to happen.”

Worried his aster, Seungmin thinks dryly, but the f-word was a hard one to say, especially now.

  
  


Changbin doesn’t remember much of his training. It’s very blurry. Some events are uncertain. 

(He doesn’t remember much at all, honestly. All that he knows is that this was always his life, since he was a child.)

One thing he does remember, and quite clearly too, was the jungle gym.

The jungle gym. What a funny name. It sounded too lighthearted. No, the jungle gym was a crooked, unstable mess of bars and poles. They’d have to clear it in only a few seconds, swinging and climbing and contorting through any space they could find. Changbin glances for a moment at the scar on his left palm. They were from the jungle gym, when a piece of wood had slit his hand while he was descending a pole.

Jisung and Chan had laughed when Changbin mentioned the jungle gym. “Oh yeah, it’s terrifying,” Jisung had said. “I got this scar from it - see?”

“I saw it collapse on a few other trainees once,” Chan says. “Thankfully they weren’t seriously harmed.”

“Sounds scary,” Changbin had joked. The thought was absolutely terrifying but he wasn’t about to spill that.

It was good training though, he reflects as he swings and lands, jogging for a few seconds to keep momentum before jumping up again. They’re taking a completely random route through the whole system. Changbin’s hoping they’ll find somewhere isolated where they can pop out quickly without anyone noticing, but that might be hard.

“Check that ladder,” Chan says, pointing. Changbin is the closest, so he swings a few more bars and jumps, catching himself lightly. He scales the ladder quickly and peeks through the hole. A street. Changbin leans back to scan it and - was that the Sunshine hotel?

“It’s our hotel,” he says, climbing down a little so he won’t be spotted through the manhole cover. 

Chan’s eyes widen. They’d went left and right on instinct, but there was no way they’d actually made it back. 

“Think we could get to the border?”

“Worth it or no?”

“Don’t know,” Chan says, shrugging, “but we have to try.”

Border. Could they make it to the border? Could they get back home?

God, Changbin misses his home. He misses the few off-moments he’d had with his team, when there weren’t missions or training and they could just sit together in the gardens and watch the sky or feed the birds. It hits him suddenly how much he wants to be back, to feel at peace again. The feeling is raw and gritty and Changbin nearly chokes on it.

But he’s got better self-control than that.

  
Chan and Jisung are talking in hushed voices, working out where they could go to get back. Changbin switches hands and dangles his feet in the air. He’s always liked heights, strangely enough. It just makes him feel less small.

“This way,” Chan finally decides. “Let’s go.”

Changbin nods and jumps, grabbing onto the pipes and then leaping down to a ledge. His body goes through the motions automatically. His mind lags further behind, tiredness blurring his thoughts.

Insomnia, he wonders absently, or laziness? Or some other condition? None were good.

Get it together, he tells himself. We still have to finish our mission. And then we can go hom. Just one last step. Just a bit further. And then all this mess will be over and you’ll get to F+ and it’ll all be stored far away into the back of your mind and everything. Will be. Fine.

  
  


Minho gets a call.

“Who could be calling?” Hyunjin asks. Minho shrugs, clicking on the **accept** button. His associates? Whoever it was, they could buzz off. Now was _not_ a good time.

“Ah, Lee Minho. So glad that you accepted my call.”

The voice automatically makes Minho’s back stiffen. He relaxes quickly, plastering on an entirely fake smile. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees everyone else snap up, shock reflected in their eyes.

“I could hardly refuse, could I?”

Of course, that’s not what he cares about because  _ how on earth did the Monarch get his number what the hell. _

Apparently, his fake smiling isn’t quick enough because the Monarch smiles wider, like a shark looking at its prey. “You seem rather tense, my dear. Is anything wrong?”

“Not at all,” Minho says, like a liar. “Though by the way, I don’t recall giving you my number. I do have a lousy memory, though.”

“You don’t remember?” the Monarch asks, brows furrowing. It’s funny. Maybe in another world, he could look innocent. Childlike. “Why, we swapped numbers on our first meeting!”

Minho frowns. He doesn’t remember that… but he doesn’t remember the first meeting at all. He’ll get Seungmin to look into it when this whole crisis was over. “Of course, I remember now. Can I help you?”

“I simply wanted to check in,” the Monarch says. “Oh, don’t look so skeptical. We’re good friends, aren’t we?”

“Naturally,” Minho says. Yeah. Friends. Who occasionally threatened each other like the good friends they were. You could call them friends with benefits. That’s how friendly they were. 

“So, how are you doing?” the Monarch asks, leaning forwards a little. “Are you and your friends alright? Nothing exciting?”

“Nothing,” Minho confirms. Kind of. Not really. Not at all. “We’re all doing perfectly fine.”

The Monarch smiles, but there’s something behind his eyes that unsettles Minho in a way he can’t describe. Like chips of onyx, he finds himself thinking absently.

“That’s wonderful,” the Monarch says. “Well, I really must be going. Have a nice day!”

He exits the call before Minho can say it back, leaving him feeling rather frustrated and a little unsettled. Honestly? Probably standard when it came to dealing with this bastard.

Minho spins around and tries not to scream. Or cry. His chest feels tight and his throat has closed off inexplicably. Everything’s just - too much.

“Are you okay?” Felix asks, worried. “Minho?”

“I’m fine,” he says. The words scrape past the lining of his throat and tumble out in a rush. He’s choking suddenly, crumpling into himself. 

“Minho,” someone is saying, voice gentle. “Minho. Minho. Hey. Hey listen to me please?”

No, Minho’s brain wails. You’re not supposed to see this. There’s a reason I usually sleep alone. Please no. I’m the leader. I have to be fine so everyone else is.

“Minho,” and the voices are surrounding him like a cage, like a net, like he’s drowning. “Minho. Minho.”

“Give him space,” someone says and the voices drift away. He’s vaguely aware that there are tears rolling down his face. His vision is blurry but it feels distant, like he’s watching through a mirror.

Someone touches him and he jerks away, recoiling. The feeling is foreign.

“Can you listen to me?” a voice says, soft and kind of sweet but rough at the same time. “Focus on my voice, okay? Look at me?”

Minho wills himself to focus but it’s so  _ hard.  _

“Good,” the voice says. “See, you’re doing it. You can do it.”

_ No I can’t,  _ he wants to scream.  _ No I can’t. I’m not. You’re lying, like everyone else. _

“Just a bit more,” the voice says. “There we go. That’s good. You’re doing well. Can you hold your hand up?”

Hold his hand up. He can do that. Minho’s strong enough to do that. He can.    
  


It’s dreamlike, almost, how he gradually raises his hand and it’s pressed to someone’s chest. There’s a steady thumping and movement there - heartbeat. Breathing.

“Breathe with me,” the voice says. “You can feel it, right? I’m breathing and so are you. Breathe with me. In… out. In… out. That’s good. It’s good.”

Slowly, he’s pulled back up. It’s a relief to breathe fully again, oxygen filling his lungs. Minho blinks away tears, feeling exhausted and just overall numb.

Felix is standing in front of him, with Hyunjin, Seungmin, and Jeongin right next to him, watching Minho with worried eyes. Their gazes make him cringe a little.

“Hey,” Felix says. “You’re good?”

“Yeah,” Minho says. It comes out hoarse but he can’t be bothered to clear his throat or anything. 

“Honestly,” Felix says, gently pulling him up. Minho just goes with it, unable to really fight back. “Are you alright?”

“I told you I’m fine,” Minho says, some of his old snappiness coming back. “Really.”

“Everyone gets panic attacks,” Hyunjin says, impossibly soft and maybe that’s what’s frustrates him. He’s the leader for god’s sake. He shouldn’t have to rely on them. “It’s okay to be not okay.”

And see, that should have made sense but brains were irrational and stupid and somehow it didn’t.

“Yeah,” Jeongin chimes in, hugging Minho. Minho hugs back automatically. “You can be a leader and dom and be sad, you know. Seungminnie gets sad.”

Seungmin isn’t the leader, Minho wants to protest, and he’s actually got a valid reason for it. Me? I have nothing.

“Whatever’s going through your mind,” Seungmin says, “stop. It’s not good. I can tell. And don’t give me the ‘you wouldn’t know’ stuff because I may not be you, but Jeongin can personally tell you that I go through a ton of - of - ”

“Shit,” Hyunjin supplies.

“That,” Seungmin says, nodding. “I’m still trying to learn that it’s nothing to be ashamed of because, well, you know. But you have to learn that too.”

Maybe it’s the sheer bluntness of Seungmin’s words. Maybe it’s the way the younger doesn’t bother sugarcoating what he says. Whatever the reason is, Minho finds himself nodding.

“There we go,” Felix says, hugging Minho as well. Minho moves one arm to wrap around Felix’s shoulder, wishing he had more arms when everyone else crowds in as well, burying him in between them.

As a wise man once said, he reflects, there’s no better time to hug it out than when someone’s trying to kill you. At least, he thinks someone said that. Who knows at this point.

“Get over here, Seungminnie,” Felix says, laughing. “You too, Minho. We’re hugging you until your ribs crack.”

“Sounds terrifying,” Seungmin comments dryly. Minho has to take a moment just to process how grateful he is for this.

They could face anything.

  
  


This really was his life now, huh.

Wow. Thanks, life. But Changbin really, really wanted a refund.

No luck.

They just have to keep going. Keep moving. Forever one step forwards, one after another. No rest for the wicked or whatever it is. Yay for perseverance.

He’s exhausted. And the stress of the situation isn’t helpful, either - but he can’t slip, not now. It’s not allowed. He shouldn’t. He’ll disappoint people.

“Are we at the border?” he asks, mostly to distract himself.

Jisung jumps to a ladder and checks. “No, but we are behind somewhere. Like an abandoned building? Doesn’t look like anyone’s here.”

“Can we go out, then?” 

“One by one,” Chan says, which is basically a yes. “Jisung, go and be careful.”

“Got it,” Jisung says, and then he’s lifting the cover and pulling himself out. Changbin watches as he disappears. Maybe fresh air will make him feel better.

Chan swings over to the ladder next, probably looking for Jisung. He gives Changbin a thumbs up after a few moments of observation. “Go.”

Okay, Changbin thinks. Chan jumps off and Changbin takes his place, scaling it quickly and lifting the cover. No one’s around, so he quickly pulls himself out and heads into the abandoned building. There’s a back door that he uses to enter.

Jisung is on the second floor. He flashes Changbin a half-grin. “Someone left their clothes here. You want to change?”

They’d changed today, but his clothes reek from sewer air, so Changbin grabs a spare few and pull them on. The shirt hangs loosely off his shoulders and the pants feel rough, but at this point they have no room to care. He ties the shirt up quickly in a knot so it’s harder to grab and less noticeable.

Chan emerges last, frowning. “Who left their clothes here?”

“Don’t know,” Jisung says. He’s wearing a shirt cut off at the midriff (Changbin has to question why) and baggy-looking pants. “Grab some.”

Chan raises a brow but does so, quickly stripping out of his clothes and pulling on a ratty shirt and tight pants. They’ve been with each other for years now, so none of them really care about decency or whatever it is. That’s for strangers, not for them.

“What was our team name again?” Jisung asks, yawning. Changbin doesn’t blame him; they’d barely slept the entire day.

“Nymphalis,” Chan says, sitting down next to Jisung. He looks equally as tired. “Sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

“I will,” Changbin rebuffs. 

“B - ”

“Can’t sleep anyway,” Changbin points out. “Go to sleep. I’ll stay up.”

Chan thankfully doesn’t dispute any further, curling up next to Jisung. Changbin sits in front of them and laces his fingers together.

The building they’ve found themselves in appears to be an abandoned shop of sorts. There are odd trinkets scattered about; a shattered vase, a rusted pendant, a glass knife. The ceiling is crumbling and plaster is peeling off the walls. It’s messy. Strange. In the North, the building would have been taken down long ago and replaced. Changbin wonders why it hasn’t here.

Sunlight peeks in through a hole in the wall. Changbin takes a deep breath, relishing the feeling of warmth on his face. He missed being outside.

(They’re technically not outside, but well. Whatever.)

He’s drawn to the knife, weirdly enough. Changbin slides over silently and brushes some debris off, picking it up. Somehow, despite it being made of glass, the knife has managed to remain in decent condition. There’s cloth wrapped around the hilt and flowers engraved into the blade. Chrysanthemum. Either positivity, rebirth, friendship, or death, depending on what type it was. Changbin would like to think it was death, since the flowers were carved into a knife, but friendship or positivity was fine as well.

(Who would make a knife out of glass? He spins it between his hands, runs a finger over the blade. Glass wasn’t sharp enough to pierce skin unless you broke it, though the knife did seem more ornamental than utilitarian.)

(Ornament knives? Wall hanging knives? Potted knives?)

Sometime around noon, Chan wakes up. Changbin is still spinning the knife. The lack of discipline isn’t normal for him, but he’s been feeling off all day.

“Sleep,” Chan says. “You look tired.”

He doesn’t have much room to protest, so Changbin settles next to Jisung and pulls his knees up to his chest, curling up in fetal position. It’s kind of cold but that’s ignorable.

Go to sleep, he tells himself, closing his eyes. Just go to sleep. Just sleep. You need the energy.

I can’t, his brain whines. I just can’t. There’s too much going on. Do you feel that wood pressing into your leg and those annoying breathing sounds and the person screaming somewhere outside and don’t you realize we’re in a foreign country as assassins wanted by the rulers? How can you fall asleep?

Changbin hates his brain.

He has absolutely no idea what they’re going to do next, but worrying about it isn’t going to help anyone so he tries to go to sleep, burying his face into Jisung’s shoulder. He’s just so tired.

Naturally, life is a jerk and he just still can’t fall asleep. His head feels like it’s on the highway to hell - loud and painful. Changbin can’t think, can’t do anything but lay there numbly and worry.

What are they going to do?   
  


Where are they going?

What’s going to happen?

He can’t control any of it but that doesn’t stop him from worrying - quite the opposite, actually. This feels like it’s going to be impossible. Maybe it is.

“Go to sleep,” Chan says softly. “I can tell you’re awake.”

Changbin doesn’t respond. There’s not much to say.

  
  


Chan wakes him up sometime at night; not on purpose, of course. But Changbin’s always had a sharp sense of hearing and he can hear the others talking quietly.

He cracks open an eye, watching as Jisung takes Chan’s place.

Are they just going to sleep? he wonders. Will they just sleep the day away? As nice as that would be, there was still the matter of food. And water. And planning out what they were going to do next.

“How are we going to eat?”

Chan looks over at him, frowning. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”

“But how are we?” Changbin presses. “We don’t have food anymore. We don’t have any of our supplies.”

“He’s right,” Jisung chimes in. “We don’t have water or coms or the maps we made, either. We don’t even have any of our actual weapons and this thing - ” he shakes the pistol - “isn’t the best quality.”

“I don’t know,” Chan sighs.

“You say that a lot,” Changbin mutters and then immediately regrets it when Chan’s face falls. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep or the tension of the situation, but he can’t bring himself to apologize.

“I know,” Chan says. “I’m sorry. This - this was my fault. I messed up.”

“Don’t say that,” Jisung says, kind soul that he is. “We all messed up.”

“That’s not much better.”

“Let’s just get some rest,” Changbin says. He’s still tired, even after the long nap he’d took. “We just escaped a stronghold. We’ll feel better after some sleep.”

“You guys sleep,” Jisung says. “I’ll take watch.”

Someday, Changbin tells himself, maybe after they finish the mission and are able to return home, Jisung won’t need to keep watch. Or Chan. Or any of them, really. They can just curl up together on a comfortable bed and fall asleep.

But for now, duty calls.


	7. Cherry Blossoms Bloom For Beauty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dramatic music*
> 
> *curtains pull back, revealing me holding this chapter*
> 
> *the audience frowns in confusion*
> 
> It's angst time.
> 
> CW//mentions of like death and stuff (not too graphic)
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -Jay

“You know what I miss?” Jisung says through a mouthful of stale bread as they walk through another sewer tunnel. “Rice.”

Rice sounded nice, Changbin thinks hazily, chewing at the bread in his mouth. It feels and tastes like cardboard.

“And cheese,” Jisung sighs. “I really miss cheese.”

Chan doesn’t say anything but simply nods. “Spices.”

Spices. Spicy. Spicy cheese? Spicy cheesy rice? Spicy cheesy rice cardboard. Haha. Rice cardboard. Cardboard rice. Corrugated rice.

Jisung and Chan are still talking. Changbin tries to concentrate on what they’re saying. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, his brain is panicking, yelling at him to snap out of the haze he’s in. Their voice is distorted, coming across funny. His head hurts.

(It feels like he’s not in his body somehow, like he’s watching a series of events unfold through a screen. Changbin wonders if this is normal. Maybe he should be worried, but he can’t find the energy to care.)

“Where are we going, anyway?” Jisung asks. 

“Border,” Chan says.

Jisung stops moving and Changbin nearly bumps into him. “Why?”

“We need somewhere safer,” Chan says. “Maybe we can get food there. That’s not stale bread. Or one bottle of water.”

“Do you… ” Jisung hesitates. It’s funny, Changbin thinks distantly. Are they supposed to hesitate? Yes? No? Maybe so? Some voice in his mind tells him  _ no  _ so that was probably it. 

(Were mind voices proper sources of information? Were they reliable? Changbin zones out for a few seconds and then snaps back when Jisung pokes him in the chest.)

“You good, B?”

He’s supposed to respond but he doesn’t want to but he should so Changbin musters the energy to say, “Mmhm.”

“You’ve been looking a little off,” Chan says, shifting closer. “You want to pause for a moment?”

Does he?

_ Just pause for a moment,  _ the really panicked voice in his head.  _ We’re not doing anything like this. You need to snap out of it! _

“Okay,” Changbin says agreeably, sitting down when he notices Chan and Jisung sitting down. He kind of wants to sleep, so he closes his eyes for a moment.

“We’re going to keep moving now,” Chan says, infinitely gentle. “Hopefully we’ll get out of here soon.”

_ Out. _

_ Out _ **_out_ ** **out** _ out _ **_out_ ** out _ - _

The world blurs for a moment and Changbin rolls his shoulders back, standing up. The haziness is gone and he frowns for a moment, confused. What had… happened?

Whatever. Where were they going again? He thinks back to when he had been really hazy and strange - was it the border? Chan had said something about the border. So they were going home.

A small flower of apprehension blooms in his gut. Was this the best idea? They hadn’t even finished their mission. 

He voices these concerns to Chan, who sighs and nods. “I know but… what other choice do we have? The South is probably hunting for us at this very moment.”

That was a good point. Changbin swings across a space, lands, and keeps walking. He feels more energetic than usual, oddly enough. They’d have to hope the border guards would be understanding… and that they woud actually be let in, too.

“Can you check that hole?” Chan asks, pointing. “You’re the closest, B.”

“Sure.”

Changbin jumps over and climbs up quickly, peeking through. “I think we’re in the right direction? I recognize one of the buildings we passed getting here.”

“Left or right?” Chan asks.

“Which building was it?” Jisung asks.

“The one with the weird colours all over. I think it was called, uh… ”

“Graffiti?”

“That. Yeah.”

“Should be left,” Jisung says, “if I remember correctly.”

“Left, then,” Chan says, jumping up and easily swinging across. Changbin wordlessly follows as they go left into the sewers.

  
  


Lockdown is tense.

Hyunjin sits silently next to Felix, arms wrapped around his knees. He’s scared. 

It’s not like they haven’t done this before. It’s not like people haven’t tried to kill them. But that never quite takes away from the fear of it all. 

“You need to calm down,” Felix says gently, massaging Hyunjin’s shoulders. “You’re nervous.”

“Are you not?”

“They haven’t come by yet,” Felix points out. “In two days. We’ve seen no trace of them so far and they don’t have any resources or anything. Either they try and re-invade our stronghold in a foreign country, or they leave. Or they, well… ”

“Die,” Hyunjin supplies. 

No words come out of his mouth but Felix’s eyes say everything. Hyunjin sighs and unfolds himself from his curled-up position, stretching. He’s stressed. Tired. 

So he goes to what he always does - dance.

“I’ll go with you,” Felix says when Hyunjin states it out loud. “I want to dance a bit as well.”

“Me too,” Minho says, standing up. He looks even more tired than Hyunjin, something that shouldn’t be as surprising as it is. “Minnie, Innie?”

“I should stay behind,” Seungmin says. “Just in case.”

“I’ll stay if Seungmin is,” Jeongin says loyally, arms wrapped around Seungmin’s waist. Hyunjin’s kind of jealous of their obvious love. In a world where there’s so often nowhere to go, Seungmin and Jeongin had somehow found each other. 

(He’s not jealous - he can’t be jealous. He doesn’t have the right to be jealous, not when he’s so lucky, so the feeling bubbling up in his stomach has to be happiness.)

Dancing is not his last, but it is and will always be Hyunjin’s first love. He turns on some relaxing background music and settles into a stretch. The burn in his legs is familiar and grounding.

When he was a child, he’d lived in relative happiness. His parents were decently well-off and Hyunjin was never in want of much. At a young age, he’d been dragged off by a friend to some sort of dance lesson and it was there he’d fallen in love.

Dance was hard, Hyunjin had learned. But no one had ever said it would be easy. And he’d loved the rush of being on stage, the satisfaction that came with a performance well done.

(And if he’s really being honest with himself, he’d had nothing else to cling to so dance became his source of comfort.)

So he kept dancing, even when the government collapsed and South Allesia was left scrambling to recover. He’d turn on the old music player that his parents had for whatever reason and stretch and then dance. Maybe it was a choreography they wer learning, maybe it was just improv. Whichever, whatever. Hyunjin loved it anyway.

Today is, he thinks as he pulls his hair into a small ponytail at the back of his head, an improv day. He’d choreographed a piece just a few days ago, but that was long gone from memory.

Felix nods wordlessly when Hyunjin changes the song to a harsher one, full of heavy EDM and bass. Minho is standing in the center of the room, swaying a little to the beat. 

“Nice pick, Jinnie.”

Hyunjin normally loves the nicknames (he’s soft, what about it?) but now it just hurts, somehow. He nods so it doesn’t seem awkward.

“Let’s dance. Improv, today. Channel… ”

What emotion, he wonders, would fit? Colour, maybe? Speed? Felix and Minho are waiting patiently, no malice at all in their eyes.

“Frustration,” he decides, because that’s appropriate as all heck for this moment. “Dance like you’re frustrated. Go.”

Frustration is like anger and sadness all mixed into one unhappy juice, Hyunjin decides. It’s wet and gritty and burns bright. But it fades so quickly, leaving you exhausted. Minho dances like he’s trying to rip apart the studio, fast and harsh and angry. Felix moves slower but with just as much passion. Hyunjin?

He dances like he’s exhausted because that’s what frustration does. And he is exhausted. He’s on-edge all the time and it’s wearing him out. Hyunjin just really,  _ really  _ wants a break.

_ But do you deserve one?  _ the little voice in his head asks, berating.  _ What have you done besides sit there? What are you, even? _

Hyunjin doesn’t realize he’s started to cry until someone wraps him up in a hug. He starts at the touch.

“Jinnie.” Minho’s voice is soothing. “Hyunjinnie, what’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” he manages to say. Felix pauses the music and joins their little hugfest. “It’s okay.”

“No it’s not,” Felix says, infinitely gentle. It  _ hurts.  _ “You’re crying. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he says, harsher. “Let’s just dance, okay?”

He regrets it immediately when Felix’s face falls. “Don’t worry about me,” he says, trying to placate the younger. “Really. It’s fine, Lixie.”

Felix just tugs them so they’re all sitting in a pile on the floor, Hyunjin squashed in between Minho and Felix. He’s the tallest but he’s never felt smaller than now. Minho keeps rubbing Hyunjin’s back and Felix is petting his hair and the only thing going through his mind is  _ I don’t deserve this, I don’t deserve them, what have I done for them. _

“Shh,” Minho whispers into his back. It tickles, kind of. “Shh. Shh.”

_ I’m not speaking,  _ he wants to say, just to be funny. To lighten the mood. His mouth stays stubbornly shut.

“Let’s just relax for a moment, kay?” Felix asks. “Okay? Jinnie?”

He’s got no strength to refuse, so Hyunjin murmurs an agreement into Felix’s chest. He can feel Felix’s heartbeat, thumping away steadily. It’s soothing somehow.

“Just breathe,” Minho says. “In, out. With me. There you go. You’re doing well.”

_ I’m doing well,  _ Hyunjin thinks hazily.  _ Doing well. I’m doing well.  _

“That’s it,” Minho continues. “All better?”

He definitely feels more relaxed now, no longer on the edge of a meltdown. Hyunjin hums, snuggling deeper into the hug. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Felix sighs, relieved. “You want to say what was bothering you?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Minho says. “We can just sit here and breathe for a bit. That good?”

“Yeah.”

  
  


“We’re there.”

“Really?” Jisung asks, swinging over. Changbin follows closely. 

“Yeah,” Chan says. “We’ve reached the border.”

A surge of relief washes over him. Changbin swings past Jisung and sits down on the ladder rungs, leaning back. He’s tired and hungry and could probably sleep for an entire week, but they’re home. They made it.

“How do we get past them?”

“We can knock them out,” Jisung suggests, plopping down next to Changbin. It’s a tight squeeze, but they’ll manage.

“Probably the best plan,” Chan agrees, climbing up and peeking through the cover. “Alright, no one’s around and there’s a bit of cover. Let’s go, fast.”

He can do that. Changbin’s been going fast since birth. He tamps down the steadily increasing excitement in his stomach and quickly slips out of the sewer, following Chan to hide behind a shed. No one seems to have noticed them so far. Good. 

“This way,” Jisung whispers, pointing to a nearby station. “I remember learning this. In class.”

Changbin is confused for a moment - they’d never learned about this in class - then he remembers that Jisung wasn’t always an assassin. The idea feels weird. Jisung’s been with them for what seemed like forever.

Chan just nods, following Jisung. Changbin brings up the rear, fingering the weapons tucked into his clothing. Looks like he’ll be getting some use out of them.

Yay?

(Look, he was supposed to enjoy fighting, right? Assassin and all that. Maybe once upon a time he liked it, but at this point it had become just another job.)

(His whole life was a job, what was the point?)

The South border guards are depressingly easy to take out. Jisung drops one in a single hit, while Changbin takes care of the other two. Quick and painless. No point in drawing anything out.

The North border guards are staring at them like they’re monsters and Changbin feels a sudden wave of awkwardness wash over him. He didn’t  _ kill  _ them; they’d just wake up a little sore. And probably with a concussion, too. That.

Jisung solves the problem, thankfully. “Listen,” he says. “We’re from the North and we need to get back preferably today. Got it?”

“Y-yes,” one stammers. “Uh. Which part?”

“Call the palace,” Chan says, stepping up. “Tell them Nymphalis is here. Nym-pha-lis.”

“Nympha - okay. Okay. Um. Do you need food? Water?”

“That would be nice,” Jisung says, smiling sweetly. “Just water is alright, actually.”

“... gotcha. Frank! We need water please!”

“Right on it, babe!”

Chan smiles for a moment but then it slips away. Jisung muffles a soft laugh. Changbin wonders what the joke was.

“I told you not to call me that,” guard one sighs. “Not in front of others.”

“Aw, what’s wrong?” ‘Frank’ asks, peeking out. “None of them look like they mind. Besides, we’re not that important anyway.”

“ _ They’re palace people Frank!” _

“It’s okay,” Jisung interrupts. “I mean, you do you, right?”

It takes Changbin a moment to figure it out. Oh.

Okay.

“I told you,” Frank says, rolling his eyes. “Here you go, cool palace people. Water.”

“Thank you,” Chan says, polite as ever. He passes one bottle to Changbin and another to Jisung. Changbin unscrews the cap and takes a sip, sighing in relief. Jisung is draining the bottle at a ridiculous pace next to him, so Changbin quickly tugs the bottle away. 

“Slow down, you’ll get sick.”

“Never.”

Changbin resists rolling his eyes, but only barely. He can’t help the small smile that creeps up on his face, though. They’re back. Everything is going to be okay.

(Hopefully.)

(Maybe?)

“Your people are here,” Frank’s datemate says, pointing. 

“Good luck!” Frank adds, smiling cheerfully. Changbin wonders whether he stops smiling, then brushes that thought to the back of his mind. Chan sets his bottle down and nods.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Bye!”

“Bye!” Jisung says.

“Goodbye,” Changbin says automatically. He was always taught to mind his manners towards allies.

There are plenty of guards waiting outside for them, all fully armed. Changbin watches them carefully. Nothing personal - they should theoretically be allies. But caution never hurts, especially in his line of work.

“Nymphalis,” the first one says, stepping up. “We’re here to personally escort you all to the palace. If you will?”

Chan is the first to go and Jisung and Changbin follow him without a word. 

“Hands,” another guard says brusquely. Jisung’s brows furrow but he complies and Changbin does a moment later. Chan is the last.

Cold metal encircles his wrists, attached with a chain. Changbin blinks for a moment, startled. Worry settles heavy in his gut.

This isn’t good.

“Why are being handcuffed?” Chan asks, surprisingly composed.

“Safety precaution,” the first guard says, forcing them in further. “Nothing personal.”

And then the door shuts, leaving all three of them sitting in darkness as the engine starts and they drive off.

Are they prisoners? They can’t be, right? This has to be a misunderstanding…

but they never finished the mission and they were discovered.

Discovered teams get retired. 

‘Retired’.

“Wait,” Chan whispers, as if knowing exactly what Changbin’s thinking. “Please.”

“No way,” Jisung hisses back. “There is no - ”

He cuts himself off. 

There has to be some last shred of hope, Changbin thinks, clinging to the idea. They’d served the Monarch faithfully for years. They could be given a second chance, right? It had to be true.  _ It had to be. _

Somehow, his hand finds Jisung’s. Chan places his own over theirs and they sit in silence for the rest of the ride. Changbin tries his best to relax, but it’s really not working. He’s as strung up as a wire.

They’re dragged unceremoniously out of the car. Changbin shrugs the touch off on instinct and is promptly met with a slap to the face.

It stings, but not quite as much as the painful feeling bubbling up in his chest (hurt, he realizes, he feels  _ hurt) _ . Jisung is outright glaring before Chan shoots him a  _ look  _ and his face smoothes over to normal. Changbin ignores the feeling and faces forwards, blinking quickly.

This is fine. It has to be fine. He’s always been fine and that trend won’t stop because of one measly slap. He was disrespectful and disrespect is  _ bad  _ and -

_ You’re spiraling,  _ the small voice in his head hisses.  _ Snap out of it and pay. Attention. _

Right. They’re being shoved along to a little shed. Changbin recognizes this shed; it contains a hidden trapdoor that leads to an underground tunnel system. He’d been there. He was pretty sure he’d trained there, though he didn’t remember. If it was training it would be fine.

(Please, he prays to any deity that might exist, let it just be training. Extra training. Whatever. They could handle that.)

(But, he remembers as they’re escorted down the tunnel, it was also used as a makeshift jail. They were prisoners, whether they liked it or not.)

No.

This - this couldn’t be it. They had failed, yes, but they were still able to fight. They just had to prove themselves. Changbin just had to prove himself more, just a little more. It would be  _ fine.  _ The Monarch would always love them - they would be okay, right?

He’s shaking, he realizes. Just a little, barely even noticeable. Changbin forcibly relaxes his muscles anyway, deliberately slowing down his breathing. In, out. In, out. Weakness isn’t tolerable, that’s been drummed into him probably more than a  _ thousand times so why hasn’t he gotten it yet? _

“You’ll all get your individual cells, isn’t that nice?” a guard says, smirking. Changbin has a fleeting moment of wanting to strangle him before repressing that train of thought; it would be treachery and he might be a failure, but he will  _ never  _ be a traitor.

“We’ll come see you in the morning,” a different guard grunts. At least she’s not outright smiling. “You. In.”

They’re shuffled off into their own little cells. It’s small and smells far worse than the one he’d had in the South, but that was trivial.

The click of the lock is deafening. Changbin watches as his friends disappear and curls his knees to his chest, feeling a growing sense of hopelessness.

_ What now? _

  
  


“Wake up.”

Changbin doesn’t bother saying that he’s already awake and has been for the past eight hours or so. He opens his eyes and waits as the guard unchains him.

“Where are we going?”

His voice is hoarse. His throat feels dry. The guard snorts.

“Training. Unless you can’t handle it?”

Changbin is tempted to kick him. His hands might be tied but his legs sure aren’t and he can do a lot more than run with his legs. But he resists the urge.

“What for?”

“Why the hell would I know? Keep moving.”

Well, okay then.

The training room is one Changbin is familiar with. Mats cover the floor and mirrors line the walls. There’s a jungle gym in one corner (not quite as nightmarish as the other one, thankfully), punching bags hang from the ceiling, and targets are arranged in a neat row against the wall. Jisung and Chan are there as well. Changbin catches Chan’s eye and tries to assuage the worry he can see there:  _ it’s fine, i’m okay. _

“You’ll be undergoing a full physical evaluation,” an instructor says boredly. “Aim, strength, flexibility, speed, skill in combat, skill in parkour.”

Full physical evaluation. Changbin’s done this many, many times. He can do it again. What’s one more time?

“Begin. Five shots.”

A buzzer sounds and the handcuffs are removed. Changbin heads over and picks up the pistol resting on a stool. It’s loaded already, so he aims and fires once, twice, thrice. The slide clicks back, indicating he’s run out. Changbin presses the magazine release, pulls it out, and reloads, firing the last two shots. He checks the timer he knows is there; seven seconds. Not bad. Jisung is already done and Chan is finished in the next second.

Strength and flexibility next. It’s a whirlwind of pushups, squats, and multiple stretches, all timed. Changbin manages to get it all down in under three minutes, which is pretty respectable. He finishes first this time, with Chan and then Jisung in close second and third.

Last are combat, speed, and parkour. They have to navigate their way through the jungle gym in under a minute, then spar with the instructor. Chan goes first and Changbin watches as he expertly climbs up the mess of poles and starts moving, heart in his throat.

There’s a finality to this evaluation that he doesn’t like. It could very well be his last. It could very well be  _ Jisung’s  _ last, or  _ Chan’s.  _

It can’t be.

Chan makes it through the gym in forty-five seconds and leaps down, heading for the open spar area. The instructor is standing there, ready.

In what feels like no time at all, it’s his turn. Changbin silently heads towards the structure. The buzzer sounds and he grabs a pole, pulling himself up and swinging through.

It’s a decently simple maze. After the nightmarish one Changbin was used to, this one felt easy. He swings from bar to bar, hooks his ankles around another, pulls himself up and leaps off in one big jump. The timer stops. 45.21 seconds; not bad. 

Spar time.

Fighting is what Changbin really prefers, with parkour coming in as a close second. It comes more naturally to him than anything else. Along with his lifetime of training, he’d like to think he’s decently good at this.

He moves first, deciding he’d prefer having the element of surprise. This isn’t an official fight; if it was, Changbin being the challenger would have to wait first. But people fight dirty and he’s not above doing the same.

The instructor is prepared, though, and he manages to block Changbin’s jab. That’s okay, though. He’s shorter than the instructor which gives him the reach advantage, but Changbin’s shorter than a lot of people and he’s been trained to take opponents down quickly and effectively. No matter the size.

His opponent puts up an okay fight, but Changbin manages to pin him down in 38.1 seconds and hold him there for five. 

_ Five seconds,  _ his previous instructors had emphasized. Often, they would pace or flip a knife or cock a gun. Just for the extra emphasis. Changbin always thought it was a little melodramatic, but oh well.  _ That’s all you need. Knock someone out? Blow to the temple or jaw and bam. That’s it. Kill someone? Slit their throat, stab them, shoot them. Takes a bit to bleed out and then they’re dead. Even just to temporarily cripple them. Throat jab, break a leg, dislocate a shoulder, crack their ribs. Whatever. Never, ever let someone get those five seconds on you or you will die or worse. _

Those five seconds always feel like an eternity to him. Changbin counts them down in his head,  _ five, four, three, two, one. _

_ Ding. _

Time’s up, he won. Changbin releases the instructor and steps away, letting himself be cuffed once more. Now that the adrenaline of fighting has started to fade, he’s beginning to feel nervous again. Is it enough? It has to be enough. There’s no other option.

Jisung goes next and he starts off good, slipping neatly through the bars one by one. Chan is more flexible, but Jisung’s faster and has the smallest frame out of all of them. He navigats the jungle gym with ease, almost snakelike. Changbin would feel jealous but he’s really not that type of person.

(Jealousy is overrated anyway.)

Against the instructor, though, he slips up.

It’s barely noticeable. A tiny misstep that Jisung corrects almost immediately. But the instructor notices and Changbin notices and so does Chan. The guards don’t seem to care, but judging by the instructor’s narrowed eyes and furrowed brow, he certainly does.

Not good. Not at all.

Jisung beats the instructor anyway, so that’s something at least. It should be enough, right?

_ No,  _ every single past instructor’s voice seems to say. 

_ You’re not helping,  _ he tells them back and then firmly closes that train of thought before it can barrel on further. 

Jisung is pale when they finish but he shows no other sign of nervousness, standing firmly at attention. Changbin clasps his hands and faces forwards, masking all hints of worry. It’s just not proper.

“You,” the instructor says finally and he’s pointing straight at Changbin  _ oh god.  _ “You stay.”

Wait.

But - 

“You two,” the instructor says, waving dismissively towards Jisung and Chan, “we’ll see.”

No. No this was not how it was supposed to go and before Changbin can control it the word slips out. “No.”

An arched brow. A slight step forwards and fear pounds in his chest, crawls up his throat and fills his mouth. He can’t speak, can’t think. Changbin is  _ terrified. _

“What I thought,” the instructor says, satisfied. “You will, of course, be undergoing… treatment. But for now, that is it. Take him to his cell. The others…”

No. No no no. Please no. Changbin is certain the others can hear his heart thumping against his ribcage. He can’t let them go, they’re all he has. They’re all he’ll  _ ever  _ have.

“Please,” Jisung says and Changbin feels a shudder run over his skin. He’s always been the boldest out of all of them and that could be his downfall. “We’ll… we’ll do better. You can’t. Please, sir.”

The instructor eyes all three of them with cold eyes, sharp as a blade and just as deadly. He doesn’t speak.

Changbin is dragged away and cuffed to the wall. The door closes with an ominous thunk, iron and steel and it’s far too real.

Tears well up in his eyes and he tries to blink them back.  _ Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Not now, not now not now not now. _

His body betrays him.

One slips out, tracing a burning trail down his cheek and the floodgates open. Tears pool up in the corners of his eyes and cascade out, rolling down his chin and his neck, staining the shirt he was graciously granted. 

What is he supposed to feel, he wonders? Sadness? Frustration? Anger?

But there’s nothing. 

His chest feels hollow, his body rests limply against the wall, like a corpse. The tears are meaningless -  _ he’s meaningless,  _ he realizes and the thought hurts, more than ever before. Emptiness has never hurt so much. It’s not  _ supposed _ to hurt so much.

So Changbin leans back and cries and cries until there’s nothing left to cry, tears dripping sticky down his face and chin, salt staining his tongue and lips. Some splash down onto the floor and soak into the earth; a meager offering, to be sure, but what else can he give?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now back to your regularly scheduled programming of waiting like one and a half weeks for the next update. I am so sorry for my weird lack of schedule on this story and the wait times. Honestly I can't wait until it's like March Break or something so I can finally buckle down and just write. 📝


	8. Grieve For Hyacinth, O Lonely Lover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had insane writer's block for the last week but today I finally sat myself down and wrote. I think that's the longest chapter I've written (not this one, obviously). 
> 
> We're all aboard the angst train now, so fasten your seatbelts and please be careful.
> 
> CW//burning, blood (not graphic), nightmares, death (mentioned), some cruel things are said
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -Jay

He wakes up in the morning feeling sticky, disgusting, and ashamed of himself.

Changbin blinks harshly. There are definitely tear tracks on his face, he knows. His eyes are probably a little red as well. Ugh.

He shouldn’t have cried. He’s literally killed people before. Changbin can’t help but shake his head a little, remembering when he was young and thought that breaking your arm was the worst thing that could ever happen. How times change.

(Is this nostalgia? It doesn’t feel nice at all. He was lied to.)

There’s no windows in his room (cell, it’s a cell), but Changbin has a feeling it’s somewhere around maybe 6:30 A.M. That’s usually when he wakes up, anyway. Lessons would usually begin at 7:00 A.M., so he crosses his legs and resigns himself to waiting.

  
  


Seungmin might not be in the North anymore, but there are habits that you just don’t shake. He’s woken up at at least 7:00 every day for around fifteen years and he will keep doing do.

Whether he likes it or not.

Jeongin blinks hazily up at him when Seungmin tries to sit up. “Come baaack.”

“But - ”

“No buts,” Jeongin says determinedly. “Get down here, you idiot. It’s 6:46 in the morning, you need to sleep.”

“You’re not going to relent, are you.”

“Absolutely not.”

Seungmin sighs but a smile creeps up on his face. The early morning light spills over the sheets and highlights Jeongin’s cheekbones. “Alright.”

He settles back into Jeongin’s embrace, closing his eyes. He can feel Jeongin’s heartbeat, steady against his.

“I love you,” he whispers quietly when he’s sure Jeongin’s asleep. It feels good saying that. 

How, he wonders, can Jeongin love  _ him?  _ Seungmin’s not exactly the perfect human. He’s proud and overly blunt and callous and manipulative. Even years after escaping, the whispers haunt him.  _ Ugly. Arrogant. Traitor. Thief.  _

(It took him three years to shake his hatred of butterflies and even now Seungmin gets a little uncomfortable thinking about them so how, he wonders, will he ever be able to become worthy of Jeongin’s affection?)

Normally, he doesn’t think about this. Seungmin busies himself with his work, with his friends. But mornings are when the memories are strongest. 

The sun rises steadily, uncaring. Seungmin looks back towards the mirror hanging on the nearby wall and sees a reflection of himself, of the person he will always be, bruises and all.

  
  


Waiting is painful.

Changbin has never noticed just how  _ long  _ a minute is until now. The seconds drag on and on.  _ Tick-tock-tick-tock,  _ goes the imaginary clock inside his mind.

He looks down at the dirt floor. Silently counts the small specks of gravel scattered about, gray on brown. Nothing like the black and red of the training rooms, nothing like the regal blue and white and gold of the palace halls, nothing like the vibrant greens and pinks and yellows of the royal gardens. Tears randomly pool up in his eyes and Changbin blinks them away hurriedly.

It’s so  _ stupid. _

He wants his team back - his  _ friends,  _ not team. Chan and Jisung deserved that, at least. 

(Where are they, he wonders hopelessly? They could be dead now - but they couldn’t be. Changbin isn’t going to let himself believe that they’re dead.)

So he waits and waits, legs crossed. Maybe around twenty minutes have passed? Twenty-two? Twenty-three? Chan was way better at judging time than him. That was, Changbin thinks ruefully, one of many reasons he was their leader.

Oh god, he was their leader and Changbin’s heart sinks. If they were going to be punished, it was Chan who would take the brunt of it. Even if he didn’t deserve it. 

Changbin curls his hands into fists, digs his nails into the flesh of his palm until it hurts. He has to trust that the Monarch will pass judgment fairly, but as his oh-so-wonderful combat instructor had said once,  _ never expect justice, not while you are in the Monarch’s service. _

And he would be serving the Monarch until he either died or was retired, so that was basically forever.

The lock clicks, cutting through the silence and Changbin’s head snaps up so fast he swears he hears a crack. Three guards stride in. One unchains him from the wall and the other two grab his arms, frog-marching him out the room and down the hallway.

“Where are we going?”

“Throne room,” one guard says tersely. He looks young, weighed down by his uniform. Changbin has a brief moment of deja vu - that was him once, or Jisung. When they were just teenagers.

(How old was he? He’d never known, honestly. Changbin assumed it was around twenty two or more. Jisung said he was twenty and Chan said he was twenty three. Right in the middle. Nice.)

The throne room. Changbin had been there exactly once, when he had sworn his unbreaking loyalty to the Monarch. Now he was returning, but for a completely different reason.

He’s nervous and it makes him want to laugh for whatever reason. Nervous felt like such a  _ stupid  _ way to describe the panic swirling in his gut and clogging his throat, but it was the only word he had.

Changbin is marched down the familiar hallways of the palace. To no one’s surprise, they haven’t changed a single bit. Same plush blue carpeting, same pristine white walls with gold lining. Even the flower arrangements are the same as he’d remembered: moth orchids, flowers, magnolia vines. The familiarity brings back memories of his youth; walking the same halls with a wide-eyed curiosity only children could have. It’s comforting in a way.

Just like the hallways, the throne room hadn’t changed either. Marble dais, large stained-glass windows, the North Allesia flag draped across the walls. Changbin is forced to his knees and he settles automatically into a bowing position, as was proper. Jisung and Chan are dragged in soon after.

He can feel Jisung’s gaze burning into his cheek, but Changbin doesn’t move and stays perfectly still, statuesque.  _ Don’t move,  _ he chants in his head.  _ Don’t say anything. Stay still unless spoken to. _

His etiquette teacher, Changbin felt, would be very proud of him.

“Seo Changbin,” the Monarch finally drawls, stretching out every syllable. Changbin feels a shiver run up his spine and not in a good way.

He might be completely screwed.

“Han Jisung,” the Monarch continues, “Bang Chan. Aren’t you an interesting trio.”

_ Don’t move. Don’t move don’t react don’t do anything. You are a statue, made of marble. Nothing but an obedient shadow.  _ The words echo in Changbin’s head, over and over and over.

“Two submissives,” the Monarch says. “One switch. Theoretically you should never have worked.”

See, Changbin  _ knows  _ this. He’s heard the whispers around the palace.  _ Unnatural. Unconventional.  _ And all his life, he’s just ignored those words because why should they matter? He does his job and he knows he’s good at it. Whether or not they should or shouldn’t work doesn’t matter.

But hearing those words out of the Monarch’s mouth hurts, digging deep and unearthing doubts he’d long buried.

“But you did, anyway,” the Monarch is saying and Changbin tunes back in quickly. “Team Nymphalis; one of the best ever formed. And yet.”

Click, click, click. The sound of the Monarch’s shoes, tapping evenly across the lacquered wooden floor. Changbin watches, out of the corner of his eye, as the Monarch crouches and tilts Chan’s head up with two delicate fingers. Dread settles deep in his gut.

“Tell me,” the Monarch says softly and it’s absolutely terrifying. “What. Did. You. Do.”

Chan doesn’t respond for a still, tense moment. Changbin can feel the fear radiating off of him in waves, but to his credit he clears his throat and answers.

“Failed, my Liege.”

“You failed,” the Monarch says. It’s not even angry, just a simple fact. They failed. 

And then the shoe drops.

“You  _ failed,”  _ the Monarch roars and it takes every single one of his years on years of training not to flinch from the sheer whiplash of it. “Such a key mission and yet you failed. Even worse; you were captured. You were seen. And now the South knows about us. You are lucky that I have not yet had you three killed for this.”

Heat pools in Changbin’s eyes, ready to burst out, and he blinks it back quickly. Jisung has less luck; a teardrop rolls silently down his cheek and lands on the floor. Changbin wishes he could reach out, hold his hand, do  _ something  _ to comfort the younger, but his body remains stubbornly paralyzed. 

“I’m not even angry,” the Monarch says and suddenly his voice is soft again, as if talking to a baby. His shoes click across the floor in a steady rhythm. “I’m just disappointed.”

And now Changbin really wants to cry.

Almost. Almost. He can feel wetness leak out onto his eyelashes, hanging on for a still moment before he manages to blink it back. It makes him feel even worse, if that were even possible. Changbin hates many things and failing ranks at the top of his list. At least, it used to. Now, he thinks bitterly, it’s himself who takes that spot.

“Such a shame, too,” the Monarch mutters. “All that time spent on creating you and you disappoint me like this. You owe me, Seo Changbin. Han Jisung. Bang Chan. And what do you do to repay my kindness? Fail.”

Guilt. It’s not sadness or fear this time; it’s guilt. Heavy and thick, filling up his lungs, settling into the hollows of his bones and digging beneath his skin. The room is too hot, the air is too heavy. More and more tears pool up beneath his eyelids and it’s a struggle to hold them back, to not crack open on the beautiful wood floor. 

He finds the strength to survive amidst by cold stone and earth, but it’s here where Changbin feels like breaking, surrounded by luxury all around. Maybe that’s the worst irony of them all, that somewhere so beautiful could feel so cruel.

“I should have you retired. Killed,” the Monarch says coldly. Jisung shifts where he’s kneeling next to Changbin and the Monarch pauses. “Anything to say for yourself, Han Jisung?”

Uh oh.

_ Don’t,  _ Changbin silently pleads.  _ Don’t make it worse on yourself. Jisung don’t. _

But he’s no telepath and Jisung, reckless and bold and so so  _ brave,  _ lifts his head up and says, voice trembling but firm, “Spare them.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Please,” Jisung says. Changbin has never heard Jisung plead before and it hurts. “Don’t - don’t hurt them. Kill me. But spare their lives  _ please.” _

Changbin has felt sadness. He’s felt fear.

But now he understands why people call it heartbreak.

Because it feels like his chest is being physically ripped in two.

“You?” the Monarch scoffs and Changbin feels a new emotion, something suspiciously like anger. He squashes it quickly. “You, who was crying on the floor?” He taps his foot;  _ clack.  _ “You, the weak link. What could you ever be to me?  _ Pathetic. _ ”

Jisung isn’t weak. Jisung isn’t pathetic. If anything, it’s Changbin who deserves that. Another tear drips onto the floor, glittering like a pearl and infinitely less precious and Changbin feels the remains of his heart being twisted and tossed into the dirt. Not Jisung. Never Jisung. 

“Me.”

The word spills out without Changbin’s permission and immediately he feels six pairs of eyes on him. Changbin snaps his mouth closed, immediately regretting that. 

“You,” the Monarch says and he sounds more contemplative now. “Oh, don’t go quiet on me now. Do go on, Seo Changbin. What would you like to say?”

Changbin is tempted - so very tempted - to keep silent. Say nothing.  _ It’s not worth it. Don’t make this worse on yourself - on the others. Do you really want to do this? Do you deserve it?  _

But he thinks of Jisung, so young and far braver than Changbin could ever be. Of Chan, who held a thousand oceans in his dark eyes, world-worn but infinitely kind. 

He might not deserve it, but at least they do. They deserve it and that’s all Changbin needs to open his mouth again.

“Spare them,” he says and is infinitely grateful that his voice doesn’t come out shaky. “Do… what you want. With me. But spare them.”

Chan is shaking his head to the side, trying to stop them.  _ Sorry,  _ Changbin thinks, not at all apologetic.  _ But when we’ve both decided to make a stupid decision, we’re sticking with it. _

“How noble,” the Monarch croons. Changbin feels a violent shiver go down his spine. “You really do care for each other, don’t you. What about you, Bang Chan? Have anything to say?”

“Only the same, my liege,” Chan says softly. Changbin can hear the underlying fear in his voice. “Spare them. I’m the leader. It’s only my fault, not theirs.”

The only thing they get is a vaguely condescending hum. “So precious, your bond. So, so precious.”

Silence. Changbin barely breathes, wound up as a spring. Footsteps tap steadily against the floor, a sharp contrast to the frantic pitter-patter of his heart.  _ Please,  _ he prays to the god he doesn’t even believe in,  _ let them live. Please. Not them. Not them. _

“Leave me now,” the Monarch says finally and his footsteps click away as Changbin’s heart drops.  _ No.  _ “You six. Take them away.”

“Wait,” Jisung breathes, voice high and panicked but he’s silenced. Changbin doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes, too busy trying to hold back tears as they’re marched unceremoniously back to their cells.

They escaped from one prison, just to be locked in another. Changbin listens as the door closes with a harsh  _ thunk  _ and thumps his head against the wall as the tears, for the second time in two days, start to flow.

  
  


“It’s been five days,” Felix says.

“We are all aware,” Seungmin comments dryly, “of the flow of time.”

“Don’t be mean,” Jeongin says, bopping Seungmin lightly on the head. Hyunjin watches with a smile as Seungmin smiles affectionately, face softening.

They’re ridiculously adorable, always touching or looking at each other. Jeongin looks at Seungmin like he’s the sun and Seungmin looks at Jeongin like he’s the moon. Hyunjin can’t remember a time when they weren’t permanently attached to each other.

“Seriously though,” Felix presses. He’s wrapped around Hyunjin’s shoulders like an octopus. It makes him feel kind of fuzzy inside, hovering somewhere around sleepiness. “Do you think they’ll actually attack?”

“Lockdown protocol states two weeks,” Minho says, finally looking up. “Just a few more days.”

Felix sighs deeply. “Fiine.” 

He releases Hyunjin from his grasp and Hyunjin immediately misses the contact. Thankfully, Jeongin moves over from where he’s leaning against Seungmin to drag him into a tight hug. 

(Jeongin has always been perceptive of these sorts of things.)

“You’ve been looking kind of tired, Hyunjin,” Seungmin comments. “Everything good?”

“Mm.”

“Cuddle pile?” Felix asks.

“Mm.”

“Cuddle pile,” Minho confirms, joining them. “Everyone, move over. Hyunjin, center.”

“Yeah,” Hyunjin says hazily, rolling over. Felix gently guides him into the center of the bed and strokes Hyunjin’s hair gently. Jeongin curls up at his back with Seungmin and Minho finishes their little quintet of people, rubbing soothingly at Hyunjin’s shoulder.

He’s not quite sleeping. It’s just a comfortable airy feeling, like he’s drifting on clouds. Hyunjin smiles at that. Clouds are nice. 

“Seungminniee,” Jeongin murmurs, breath tickling Hyunjin’s neck, “can you read something?”

“Sure,” Seungmin says. “The Book Thief?”

“Read from Part Three,” Jeongin says. Hyunjin lets out a stifled giggle at the tickly feeling. “That’s the best part.”

“Anything for you,” Seungmin replies and the bed dips. “ **Part Three: Mein Kampf. Featuring: the way home, a broken woman, a struggle, a juggler, the attributes of summer, an aryan shopkeeper, a snorer, two tricksters, and revenge in the shape of mixed candy** .”

Hyunjin drifts away to the sound of Seungmin’s lilting voice, words floating around in the air between them. 

One breath escapes, another starts. Warmth on all sides. Soft sheets like silk beneath his hands. Time is never constant, passing quickly one moment and slowly the next. The only constant is Hyunjin’s heartbeat, thumping steadily in his chest to the rhythm of Seungmin’s voice.

“You’re doing well,” Felix murmurs. His voice is low and relaxed. “Are you fully down?”

“Yeah,” Hyunjin says. His tongue feels heavy. That’s odd.  _ Try again,  _ his mind whispers, so he does. “Yeah.”

“Don’t worry about anything,” Minho says. The hand on his shoulder never stops moving, rubbing in slow, steady circles. A grounding force of sorts. “Just relax.”

Seungmin has stopped speaking and Hyunjin wishes he’d continue. “Keep talking, Minnie. Your voice is nice.”

“Alright,” Seungmin says - it’s more of a whisper. Hyunjin can barely catch it. “ **The Attributes of Summer** .”

_ So there you have it. _

_ You’re well aware of what exactly was coming to Himmel Street by the end of 1940. _

Was he? Hyunjin isn’t sure and he doesn’t think it matters too much. Seungmin liked to say a lot about the depth of literature and how it was important to think. Analyze. But what was the point of doing that all the time? Dance could be emotional and powerful, but it could also just be for fun. Anything could just be for fun. What was wrong with that?

Nothing, obviously. But Hyunjin doesn’t bother saying that. Seungmin enjoyed finding depth in even the smallest things and so Hyunjin would let him keep doing that. 

(He was also a bit of a skeptic, which was kind of funny, but what was life but a giant contradiction?)

“ **Part Four** ,” Seungmin murmurs, “ **the standover man. Featuring: the accordionist, a promise keeper, a good girl, a jewish fist fighter, the wrath of Rosa, a lecture, a sleeper, the swapping of nightmares, and some pages from the basement** .”

At some point, Hyunjin falls asleep while Seungmin is reading the title of a chapter:  **The Swapping of Nightmares** . What a funny thing, he thinks drowsily, to be written about. 

After all, who would like nightmares?

  
  


It’s morning.

Changbin smiles at Jisung, who smiles back, eyes crinkling, and tugs him wordlessly down the white hallway. 

“Where are we going?” Changbin asks, curious. He’s never been in this hallway, though it does kind of remind him of the palace halls. Jisung doesn’t respond, grinning mischievously, and breaks into a sprint, forcing Changbin to run or get left behind.

He’s missed this. Missed just being with his friends, outside of a work or formal setting. They don’t get this often, so Changbin just lets Jisung pull him along. They’re probably just going to the gardens again, he rationalizes.

Jisung shoves open a door at the end of the hallway and steps out, looking back at Changbin for a moment as if to confirm he’s still there. Then he grins and runs off, disappearing around a bend. Changbin laughs and chases after him, feet thumping on the gravel path. He turns the bend and skids to a sudden stop when the ground in front of him vanishes, tripping and scraping his hands on the gravel.

_ What on earth? _

“Jisung?” he calls, worried. “Jisung? You in there? Are you okay? Jisung?”

Laughter rings out through the garden and Changbin whips around, confused. Where was it coming from? It seemed to be everywhere, filling the empty space.

“Jisung?” he calls again. “Jisung? Chan? Where are you?”

No response. The laughter cuts short and Changbin is suddenly aware of how silent it is, without the sound of their footsteps or the laughter. There’s nothing around him but grass, swaying lazily in the nonexistent breeze.

Something’s wrong. Changbin can feel it in his gut. This can’t be good. He reaches for his taser and grasps it loosely in his hand, looking around. Going forwards obviously isn’t an option, so Changbin just picks a random direction and starts walking. A path appears in front of him, pure white marble. Hopefully he’s going the right way.

Changbin pushes his way through a series of bushes, taser at the ready. Mist swirls in front of him, clouding his vision. He barely ducks away from a dead tree branch and steps over a tree root.

“Jisung?” he calls again but once more, no response. He couldn’t have gone that far. Hopefully. Dead leaves crunch beneath his feet. It’s devastatingly loud in the eerie silence.

Three things happen on Changbin’s next step.

One: the fog dissipates.

Two: Jisung appears.

Three: Changbin screams.

Jisung is struggling, trapped in place by multiple thorny vines. Blood drips slowly down his face, eyes wide with panic. Changbin rushes over immediately, reaching for his knife that he always carries and pulling it out but as soon as he tries to cut through one of the vines it turns into wood and then bursts into flames. Instinctively, Changbin drops it and watches in horror as flames engulf the entire clearing, spreading impossibly fast. Smoke fills the air, muffling both their screams as Changbin blacks out.

It’s afternoon.

Changbin smiles at Chan, who smiles back, eyes crinkling, and tugs him wordlessly down the white hallway. 

“Where are we going?” Changbin asks, curious. He’s never been in this hallway, though it does kind of remind him of the palace halls. Chan doesn’t respond, grinning mischievously, and breaks into a sprint, forcing Changbin to run or get left behind.

He’s missed this. Missed just being with his friends, outside of a work or formal setting. They don’t get this often, so Changbin just lets Chan pull him along. They’re probably just going to the gardens again, he rationalizes.

Chan shoves open a door at the end of the hallway and steps out, looking back at Changbin for a moment as if to confirm he’s still there. Then he grins and runs off, disappearing around a bend. Changbin laughs and chases after him, feet thumping on the gravel path. He turns the bend and skids to a sudden stop when the ground in front of him vanishes, tripping and scraping his knees on the gravel. Ouch.

“Chan?” he calls worriedly. “Chan, are you okay? Where are you?”

He stands up, brushes himself off. Turns around and slaps a hand over his mouth before he can let out a scream.

The field around him is completely dead. The grass is yellowing and as Changbin watches in stunned silence, it turns brown and starts to disintegrate. The tree branches are twisted into gruesome shapes, the wood rotting away. The patches of flowers Changbin loved were colourless, stems drooping. Petals drift slowly to the ground.

He takes a step and ash starts to fall, blanketing the earth. Changbin coughs. He has to get to Chan -  _ where is Chan?  _ The world around him is completely lifeless at this point; trees rotting away, flowers crumbling beneath his feet, and the ash keeps on falling.

“Chan!” he tries to yell but ash fills his lungs and throat and Changbin hacks, coughs. Tries to get the ash out. “Chan!” he yells again but his voice won’t come.

He sinks to the ground, still coughing. Vines wrap around his body, thorns tearing at his clothes. Blood drips down from his arms, staining the ash beneath him red. Lightning sears through the sky, then thunder cracks and the field bursts into flames. Fire licks up his body and Changbin screams, keeps on screaming until his voice cracks and his eyes fly open.

It’s night.

Rough metal presses harshly against his wrists. Blood trickles down where the cuffs had bitten into his wrists. Changbin blinks away tears and leans against the wall, breathing hard. He’s not on fire and he’s not in a burning field and he’s not in some dystopic world but the aftershocks of terror still remain, thrumming through his veins. His heart drums against his ribcage. His hands are clammy. 

Nightmares aren’t common. Not for Changbin. Most of the time, it’s sleep. Pure, dreamless sleep. Lie down, stay unconscious for six or so hours, wake up and that’s it. When it’s not sleep, it’s just normal dreams. Sometimes it’s flowers, sometimes it’s distorted faces. Sometimes it’s fear. He’s easily able to erase those from his mind; you can’t be distracted on the job.

Not these. Changbin can’t even call them dreams. Dreams are transient, whether bad or good. Dreams would always fade away quickly. True nightmares stuck and didn’t disappear for days on end, curling twisted claws around Changbin’s mind. 

He  _ hates  _ them and Changbin knows he’ll be jumpy later on. That’s if he ever sees a later on, he realizes. Because the truth is he probably won’t.

Which would be the better option, he wonders? Death or retirement? He’s not stupid. Changbin has heard the stories about what really happens in ‘retirement’. 

(I heard they brand your hands, Jisung had whispered when they were younger, sitting in a circle with the moon as their only source of light, with peonies so everyone who sees you knows.)

(I heard, Chan had whispered back, that they sew your lips together so you can’t speak.)

(Of course, the truth of those tales is another matter entirely, but fiction always has a fragment of truth.)

The worst part is that he’s got no one to blame but himself. 

There’s no way he’s falling asleep after that nightmare (Changbin can never fall asleep after he wakes up anyway) so he crosses his legs and starts counting, second by second. Facing his future death/torture will be morning Changbin’s problem.

(Facing all his friends - if he even gets to see them - will also be morning Changbin’s problem.)

  
  


Felix likes to wake up early.

He’s not sure why; he just does. Rise with the sun and all that, he supposes. Maybe Seungmin was rubbiing off on him. Felix woke early, but Seungmin was on another level. 

(Thankfully, he was sleeping in later now. Felix smiles at the thought. Jeongin was so good for Seungmin it was amazing. He still remembers seeing Jeongin’s ribbon, charm neatly dangling from his neck, and nearly squealing in excitement.)

( _ About time,  _ Hyunjin had said, giggling. Felix was in  _ full  _ agreement.)

They are still in lockdown so Felix can’t go running like he’d like to, but whatever. Dancing is great anyway. He doesn’t get why people look down on it. That’s just stupid. 

Surprisingly enough, when Felix pushes open the studio door someone’s already there. It’s Minho, dancing his heart out to  **Rewrite the Stars.**

“Hey, Minho!” Felix says cheerfully, closing the door and snickering at Minho’s startled look. “Why’re you up so early?”

“Bored,” Minho says which is basically code for  _ I spent most of the night worrying about everything and got a few hours of sleep then woke up and decided staying in bed like a normal person would wasn’t productive enough so I’m here dancing to cheesy musical songs. _

“You need more sleep,” Felix scolds, turning the speakers off and putting a hand on his hip. They’re all experts at reading the many facets of Minho at this point. 

“We all do,” Minho sighs, brushing his bangs away. “But what can we do.”

In Felix’s (very respectable) opinion, what they can do is simple. Sleep more. He gladly says so and Minho cracks a tired grin.

“I’ll do my best.”

“You will,” Felix says determinedly. “Gosh, we need to get you your own Jeongin. At this point Seungmin has healthier sleeping habits than you and he wakes up at like 6:00 in the morning.”

“Yeah,” Minho says, stifling a yawn. They sit in comfortable silence for a moment, glad to just be with each other, until:

“So, you want to do an over-dramatic rendition of some cheesy romantic musical song?”

“Do I ever.”


	9. Seven For a Secret Never to be Told

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back let's go. Ninth chapter and the next few in the works! We just have to go through angst for a tiny bit more and then it'll be better. I promise.
> 
> The funny thing about writing is that you get attached to the characters. If you think it's bad reading a heartbreaking scene, it feels way worse writing one. Like, these characters have imprinted onto me. They're my pseudo-children. I don't want to hurt them, but I must.
> 
> CW//death, hunger and dehydration (not too graphic), violence (not too graphic), blood, explosions?, a tiny bit of body shame?
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -Jay

**DAY 1**

Changbin, as he expected, doesn’t manage to fall back asleep for the rest of the morning. He does manage to keep up a steady count for the rest of the morning and keeps counting until he reaches the absurdly high number of 323487 and decides to stop. 

(Is he a little off with his count? Maybe. But Changbin doesn’t care at this point.)

No one comes in for the entire day except once, so Changbin can go to the bathroom. No food, no water. He doesn’t know what he was expecting.

It takes a lot longer to fall asleep this time. 

**DAY 2**

He wakes up just as normal, at what is hopefully 6:30 in the morning. Still no one.

One hour passes (he counts; 3600 seconds exactly). Still no one. Changbin is already feeling the effects of thirst; his throat his dry and the palate of his mouth feels sticky.

Are they deciding on how to kill him? 

(Are Chan and Jisung already dead?)

(Maybe he’s dead and this is just him reliving his life. Changbin wouldn’t be surprised, honestly.)

**Day 3**

Dead people don’t feel hunger, do they. Someone comes in to let him drink water and go to the bathroom, but that’s it.

Starvation? That’s seriously how he’ll die?

Surprisingly anticlimatic, considering Changbin’s job.

**Day 4**

He’s hungry. 

Where are Chan? And Jisung? They could be dead already. Changbin prays they’re not going to have to starve to death. It’s a painful, excruciating process. 

**Day 5**

If Changbin dies of boredom instead of hunger or thirst, he wouldn’t be surprised. There is nothing to do in the stupid cell but count grains of dirt and Changbin has long given up on tracking seconds. Or any time at all.

**Day 6**

The door creaks open and Changbin immediately snaps to attention, crossing his legs and sitting up straight. A trio of guards march in. One holds a glass of water (wonderful). 

“Drink,” glass-holding guard says, shoving the cup at him. Changbin does his best to drink it and not choke. The other guards unlatch him and march him out of the cell.

Not death by starvation or thirst or boredom, then. Changbin wonders morbidly what the best way would be. Poison? Bullet? Electrocution? Probably not electrocution. He’s killed people with the other two methods and both had seemed relatively painless.

Chan and Jisung aren’t in the throne room when they arrive. Changbin knows they’re either in their cells or six feet under and he desperately prays it’s the former. Guard one and guard two shove down on his shoulders and guard three pushes at the back of his knees and Changbin folds, settles automatically into the proper bowing position.

_ Click. Clack. Click. _

_ Clack. _

He resists the automatic urge to look up and keeps his eyes firmly trained on the floor, tracing the lacquered wood grain. 

“Seo Changbin,” the Monarch says, enunciating every syllable. Changbin hates the way his name sounds. It feels alien, not at all like the name Changbin had carefully chosen for himself with Chan.

“I have,” a delicate pause, “a  _ proposal  _ for you.”

  
  


Minho isn’t even surprised when Felix bounces into his room, grinning widely.

“Minho,” Felix says, dragging out the vowels, “do you wanna come running with me? Please?”

“I have work,” Minho says, stifling a giggle.

“You and your papers,” Felix huffs, tugging on Minho’s sleeve. “Let’s go!”

Hyunjin is waiting for them when they reach the exit, leaning against the doorframe. He looks a lot more relaxed now, Minho notes with satisfaction.

“How did you get him to agree?”

“No one can resist me,” Felix says, snickering, unlocking the door and pushing it open. Sunlight pours in, painting the carpeted floor with millions of invisible colours. Minho follows Hyunjin and Felix outside and takes a deep breath of the fresh air. 

He wasn’t as loving of the outdoors as Felix was, but Minho had still missed this.

Felix leads them on a winding path through the city, chattering a mile a minute. Minho ends up getting dragged into a loud argument about how geese are apparently scarier than bears.

“Geese couldn’t kill you,” Hyunjin argues.

“Yes they could,” Felix retorts. “Look at them. Their evil little eyes. Their sharp beaks. And they can  _ fly.” _

“Look at bears. Look at their claws. They’re huge and they can run really fast. You would rather get chased by a bear than a goose?”

“ _ Ob _ viously. Bears can’t fly. Geese can follow you  _ everywhere.  _ You agree with me, right, Minho?”

“I’m not getting involved in this debate,” Minho says, shaking his head. He pauses, and adds quickly, “But Felix is right.”

Felix lets out a victorious whoop of laughter at Hyunjin’s betrayed shout. Minho ducks away, giggling, as Hyunjin chases after him.

“You said you wouldn’t get involved in this debate!”

“Hyunjin don’t resort to violence!”

“I stand by my point,” Minho says through laughter. “Geese are terrifying. Bears are just big!”

  
  


A proposal.

Changbin doesn’t speak, simply waiting. Either he’ll get to speak or the Monarch will explain what he’s talking about. 

“No response?” the Monarch muses. “Should I withdraw it, then?”

_ No,  _ Changbin wants to gasp out, panic rising up suddenly but he tamps it down, buries it somewhere deep in his heart. 

“No, my liege,” he says and his voice comes out calm, far calmer than he actually is. Changbin is infinitely grateful for that.

“Oh?” the Monarch asks. Changbin can hear the amusement in his voice.

(Amusement is two-sided. There’s Jisung’s type of amusement, which is bright and honest and happy, and then there’s this, which feels just as cruel as anger.)

“Well then,” the Monarch continues, “would you like to hear my proposal?”

“Yes please, my liege.”

“So  _ polite,”  _ the Monarch practically croons. Changbin isn’t able to suppress the violent shudder that goes down his spine. “Here’s my proposal, Seo Changbin. Listen and listen well.”

  
  


They practically fall through the door in a pile of tangled limbs and laughter. Minho ends up getting Felix’s elbow to his chest and he lets out a pained  _ oomf,  _ smacking Felix’s shoulder in retaliation.

“This is all your fault, Lix,” Hyunjin says, words muffled by Minho’s arm. 

“How is this my fault?”

“Generally when there’s chaos you’re there,” Minho points out. Felix’s face falls a little and he adds quickly, “Don’t worry, we love you anyway.”

Felix grins, eyes crinkling into little crescents. “Awwwwww. I love you guys too.”

  
  


A gauntlet of sorts, the Monarch had said airily. Complete it… and perhaps I will allow your friends to live.

_ Fail and they will die,  _ he doesn’t say. Changbin hears it with perfect clarity. 

“Do you accept my offer?”

The words hang in the air, delicate like a spider’s web. Changbin takes a deep breath, feels it shudder through his lungs. He exhales and seals his choice.

“Yes.”

What do they have left to lose? If Changbin doesn’t accept this proposal, they’ll all die anyway. This is his only chance. Flimsy as it may be, Changbin can’t say no. He’s trapped on a mountain during a landslide; either he jumps into the ocean and prays he lives, or he gets crushed by the incoming earth.

He fails and his friends die. Changbin knows the sinking feeling in his gut well; it’s the knowledge that this could easily be their last mission. Or his, he supposes.

But if Changbin had a choice, he wouldn’t be agreeing to what could be a death warrant in the first place.

In his kneeling position, Changbin can’t see the Monarch’s face, but he can hear the satisfaction in his voice. 

_ I’m sorry,  _ he thinks as he’s dragged away and back to his cell.  _ Your lives shouldn’t hang on my success.  _

That’s all the sadness he allows for himself, though. Changbin leans against the wall and shuts his eyes, taking deep, even breaths. 

He’s got a mission to accomplish and he absolutely refuses to allow even the faintest possibility of failure.

  
  


“Good run?” Seungmin asks, spinning around. A faint smile curls up at the edge of his lips. Minho shakes his hair back and smiles back.

“Of course.”

“Did Felix try and convince you all that geese were scarier than bears?” Jeongin pipes up.

“Yes - how did you know?”

“He was doing it to us yesterday,” Seungmin sighs, shaking his head fondly.

“He was right,” Jeongin adds. “I don’t know how, but I feel the truth in my bones.”

“If you fought a goose you would have a higher chance of winning,” Seungmin points out. Minho takes a seat on the nearby desk to watch. Whenever their resident couple argued, it was either lighthearted and stupid or deeply philosophical. No in-between. “Bears are bigger, stronger, and have actual teeth and claws.”

“Geese also have teeth! And they can beat you with their wings and jab you with their beak.”

“First of all, those teeth are small and barely considered teeth. Second of all, would you rather get slapped by a wing or get clawed at by a bear?”

“Your teeth are small.”

Seungmin blinks. The sheer confusion on his face forces a giggle out of Minho’s throat. “What… does that even mean?”

Jeongin snickers and lightly boops Seungmin’s nose. Minho laughs even more. “It means what it means, silly.”

“... okay. Anyway, geese are scary because they don’t back down from anything and are perfectly willing to try and murder you. But as for actual physical harm, they can’t cause anything too severe. A scarier bird would be a swan. Just as angry, but far stronger and can break actual bones if you’re unlucky.”

“How do you even know this?” Minho asks.

“I got annoyed,” Seungmin says sheepishly. “Felix was being kind of stupid so I learned a lot about geese just to try and spite him. Apparently, the cross between a swan and a goose is called a swoose and I would like to personally slap whoever thought that was a remotely good idea.”

Jeongin bursts out in a fit of giggles. Seungmin sighs deeply but Minho can practically  _ feel  _ the affection pouring off of him in waves.

They shouldn’t be in the South running a country, he thinks. They deserve to ride off into the sunset entwined in each other’s arms like the sappy idiots they are. 

But god, Minho loves them both and he’s selfish. He couldn’t let anyone go if he tried.

  
  


Task one; blow up a warehouse.

Changbin is almost insulted. He’s an assassin, not a soldier. He was trained to kill people stealthily. Not by setting off a bomb.

(Bombs are loud anyway. Ugh.)

He would feel more annoyed if it weren’t for the fact that this was the only way to save his friends and irritation was a waste of his time. Instead, Changbin bottles every ounce of tension, fear, and irritation he’s feeling and tosses it into the metaphorical ocean. No time for sadness or whatever. His goal right now is to get into that warehouse, plant bombs, and get out.

It’s laughably easy.

Changbin is able to cause a distraction by setting off an alarm and slips in quickly during the chaos. He knocks out some random guard, slits his throat with his own knife, steals the uniform and dumps the body into a bin of sponges (sponges?).

From there it’s basic work. Changbin plants the bombs strategically around the warehouse so it would collapse once he set them off, then kills a guard who was getting suspicious and slips out. Once he’s at a safe distance, Changbin sets the bombs off and covers his ears as the warehouse collapses in a pillar of flames and smoke.

Job done. Task one accomplished. One step closer to saving his friends.

  
  


“So do we have their names?” Jeongin asks.

Seungmin leans back, rubbing at his eyes. “Working on it,” he sighs. “Our connection has been laggy these past days. 

Jeongin hums, wrapping his arms lazily around Seungmin’s neck. It always makes him smile, how Seungmin leans into the touch now instead of flinching away. 

He’s a flawed person, but Jeongin has never and will never take Seungmin’s love for granted. And Jeongin knows Seungmin would never take him for granted, either. 

(Felix says they’re disgusting with their love. Jeongin always laughs at that, knowing full well it’s a joke.)

(But he never jokes about their relationship. Seungmin is strong but Jeongin knows the teasing makes him insecure sometimes about their relationship. 

(And Jeongin swore a long time ago, when Seungmin was a damaged teenager crying his eyes out on the ratty bedspread, he would never hurt this beautiful person, not on purpose. Never.)

(As far as promises go, it’s a pretty good one.)

“Why?”

“Distance is definitely a part of it,” Seungmin says. Jeongin presses a gentle kiss to Seungmin’s forehead. “But getting closer… that’s risky.”

Jeongin purses his lips and sighs. “You have a good point.” He pauses, frowns. “Pull up a map for a second?”

Seungmin tilts his head in a silent question but does so anyway. Jeongin points to the marked border between North Allesia and South Allesia and Seungmin zooms in obligingly.

“There,” Jeongin says, pointing at a spot. “That little grove. It’s neutral ground, right?”

“Isn’t it North ground?”

“It’s a graveyard, I’m pretty sure,” Jeongin says. “To commemorate the war. It was agreed as neutral ground between North and South.”

“More North idiocy,” Seungmin mutters, shaking his head. “It’s less of a risk, to be sure. Is it close to the palace?”

“Decently, it looks,” Jeongin says. Seungmin clicks on the graveyard and then the palace. Distance; 87.6km. From their house to the palace; 132.2km.

“It would definitely help,” Seungmin says. Jeongin can see the gears in his head turning. “We’d have to be very careful, though. I wouldn’t put it past guards to tell us we can’t go there because it’s whatever whatever.”

“You can just talk them into submission,” Jeongin jokes. Seungmin smiles softly, the smile he reserves for baby animals and, well, Jeongin. 

“I’ll certainly do my best.”

  
  


Second task; kill some random snob making deals under the table. Changbin doesn’t care, frankly. Get in, shoot the guy, get out. Simple. Done.

Turns out, there’s another person trying to kill random snob. Changbin gives him a little aid - adjusts the scope of their gun, opens the window, and lures random snob into a good position. His fellow assassin makes the shot, kills random snob, and Changbin gets out. Quick, easy, not even him who did the kill so it can’t be tracked back to them.

It would be funny if his friends weren’t on the line.

Task two; complete. Two steps closer to saving his friends.

Changbin sits silently in the car as they ride back and stares at the fields of black roses and hellebore while they drive back. He used to love the sight of those flowers. Now, it just makes him feel tired.

His world feels like it’s spinning in the wrong direction. The cuffs are cold against his wrists. Every sensation, every sound is amplified and Changbin falls deeper into the void of black, a sea of petals that fill his vision with darkness.

  
  


Minho is hesitant when Seungmin brings up the idea.

“This could be risky.”

“I sense a but,” Seungmin says.

“Your senses are right,” Minho jokes and then falls back into his serious mode. “It’s… maybe. If you’re traipsing into neutral ground to hack into the palace server, you better have a good plan for how you’ll do this.”

“We always have good plans,” Jeongin says, grinning. He winds an arm over Seungmin’s shoulders and leans into his boyfriend. “Don’t worry.”

“See, that makes me worry more,” Minho comments dryly and they all burst into laughter.

  
  


He’s  _ exhausted.  _ And it’s raining, which doesn’t help. Changbin shakes his wet bangs out of his face and mourns his lack of hands. 

The rain is kind of nice, though. Changbin sticks out his tongue to catch a few drops. In any other situation, he’d feel embarrassed. But he hasn’t had water for the entire day. Or food.

In short; he’s thirsty and tired and hungry and bleeding from the last two tasks, which were significantly harder than the last two (especially without his teammates; Changbin will never underappreciate Chan’s calm leadership or Jisung’s bright-eyed energy again). It’s not too serious, thankfully, just a slash on his leg and a bruise forming on his collarbone (possibly also his tailbone and knees but Changbin hadn’t seen it yet). 

As usual, he’s marched back into his cell and given his usual food and water. Changbin eats and drinks in the allotted ten minutes he gets, and is then allowed to go to the bathroom, change clothes, and go back to his cell. They’re treating him better, now that he’s back on the job. Can’t perform at max efficiency without sufficient treatment, Changbin supposes.

The cell door shuts with a heavy thunk. Changbin watches a stray drop of blood roll off his leg, dark red against tan skin, and falls, soaking into the earth. Now that he’s no longer moving, all the bruises and scrapes have intensified tenfold. Despite that, he’s feels lighter than he has in days.

He’s getting there. It might not be today, or tomorrow, or even the day after tomorrow. But Changbin honestly could not bring himself to care. Every scrape, every bruise, every scar is all worth it. He knows he’s cracked and chipped, rusted and torn in places. It’s ugly. Changbin might live in a place filled with beauty, but that certainly hasn’t translated to him.

It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except going forwards, step by step, until the road is worn enough for you to run and eventually fly. Changbin isn’t at all like those precious metals people admire, but iron is a star killer and he’d gladly tear the sky to shreds if it means his friends will be okay.

_ And what if your path never ends?  _ a voice whispers in his mind.  _ What if you fail? What if they don’t get to live, even if you succeed? _

_ Shut up,  _ is Changbin’s maybe not-so-mature reply. He can’t think about that now. It’s not that he doesn’t want to (who is he lying to it’s totally that), it’s more of the fact that he just doesn’t have the energy to think about the bad outcomes. Jisung always liked to preach positivity and just this once Changbin will actually take that advice.

Positivity. No thinking bad thoughts. Good things only.

(He’s a literal assassin  _ what is he doing.) _

(No better place to have a mini crisis about the direction of your life than chained up in an underground prison cell in your own homeland, right?)

(Absolutely not!)

Tasks three and four; both complete. Four steps closer to saving his friends.

  
  


“Risky,” Minho says after a long moment of contemplation. He offers them a slight smile. “But potentially feasible.”

Jeongin holds out his hand, grinning, and wordlessly Seungmin high-fives him. 

“There’s a few changes that need to be made, of course,” Minho says, bringing them both down to earth. “Let’s start with here.”

  
  


Next mission; steal some valuable documents from a highly protected base.

Well, it’s not like Changbin has never broken into highly protected places before. Nothing is immune from entry and this base is no exception.

This task takes a lot longer than the others, mainly because of the heavy security and his lack of a team. Changbin wishes he had some backup, just for the distraction factor. But he only has the guards sitting in a getaway car, just watching. And waiting.

But that doesn’t matter. 

He slinks through the vents, wishing desperately that he had a map. This was one of those ‘wing-it-and-pray’ missions. Changbin feels like he’s been doing a lot of those recently. Probably not a good sign.

There’s an opening in front of him, light filtering through. Changbin tilts his head, tries to get a view of what room it is. Judging by the outline of what appears to be a monitor and the snores of some lazy guard, it’s a security room.

Adrenaline is pumping steadily through his veins, anticipation thrumming in his bones. He’ll have one chance at this. Changbin gently unscrews the vent cover, pocketing the screws, and ever-so-slowly slips out. 

The guard doesn’t stir.

He tiptoes closer, pulling out the knife they’d let him have. Just two more steps and… 

The poor guard is dead before he even wakes up.

_ Sorry, random guard person. _

Changbin drags the body down so it isn’t visible from the door, destroys the footage of him entering, and quickly presses the  **OFF** button to stop all security cameras. He grabs a nearby map and slips back into the vents, unnoticed.

Judging by the map, the room he needs to go to is up a floor. More climbing. Great. Well, it’s not like he has anything better to do. Changbin sighs silently and starts crawling again, knowing he has to get as far from the crime scene as possible.

Rule one of killing someone on enemy territory: someone will find the body and by then you better be as far away as possible.

He scales the vents, wincing when he notices the scrape marks on his nails. It’s not like Changbin is the most beautiful person or anything, but it still kind of irks him.  _ They’re ugly,  _ the mocking voice in his head whispers.  _ Just like you are. _

_ I’m an assassin, why should I care?  _ is his usual response. Generally it’s enough to ward off his insecurities; except his murder-skill related ones. 

Of course, beauty still matters. Changbin knows he won’t ever be beautiful after his years of training and work, but he owes it to the Monarch to at least try.

He heaves himself up one final time and slides forwards, taking a moment to check the map again. Changbin has absolutely no idea where he is - possibly close to the conference room  **C2** \- but if he wanders around enough he should be able to find it.

On the fifth room he checks, he finally finds it. The boss office (what an odd name). The ‘boss’ herself is in the room, pacing back and forth. Changbin decides that going in immediately is a bad idea and waits. It’s sometime around 1:00, judging by his internal clock, and there’s a good chance the boss will leave sometime.

Sure enough, she does. Changbin waits for around 25 minutes and then the boss sighs. Footsteps click away, a door opens, and Changbin waits for a few more minutes before unscrewing the vent and pulling himself out.

Now to find the documents.

He does a quick inspection of the desk, finds nothing. Heads over to the filing cabinet, searches through the folders.  **A, B, C, D.** Folder  **E** is the one that has them and Changbin pulls the packet out, folds it up and is about to head back into the vent when the door creaks open.

_ Shit. _

Changbin moves before his mind catches up with the situation, ducking behind the desk. His heart thumps and silently he reaches for the gun.

“Did you see something?”

“I think I did.”

“Let’s check.”

Two pairs of shoes, two voices. Changbin sighs silently. At least the door swings shut with a heavy  _ thunk _ . 

Two shots later and it’s done. There’s a decent chance that someone heard the gunshots so Changbin doesn’t try to move the body, just slips back into the vent, refastens the cover, and starts retracing his path.

Overall, not the cleanest mission, but still decent. He got the documents and only had to kill three people. And he destroyed all footage, as a bonus. See, he’s a competent assassin. 

Changbin sneaks out of the building unnoticed and heads back to the getaway car, handing over the weapons and the documents he’d stolen. One guard cuffs his hands again and they’re driving off.

So far so good. Task five; complete. Five more steps closer to saving his friends.

  
  


Seungmin fidgets with the ribbon on his wrist. It’s a habit, Jeongin has noticed, he’s never been able to get rid of. Just another one of the endearing little things about his boyfriend.

“What’re you thinking about?” he murmurs, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to Seungmin’s cheek. Seungmin stiffens momentarily - a reflex he’d never quite been able to stop - and then relaxes, turning his head to reciprocate.

“Worried, is all,” he murmurs back. Jeongin smiles when Seungmin brushes a light peck on his cheek, directly on the arch his cheekbone. 

“We’ll be okay,” Jeongin whispers as they pull up to the Armistice Cemetary (Seungmin had looked it up). “I’ll protect you.”

Seungmin snorts but he’s smiling. “Shouldn’t I say that, since I’m older and all?”

“Says who?” Jeongin retorts, playful. He squeezes Seungmin’s hand. “Let’s go. Thank you, by the way.”

Their driver tips his hat respectfully and smiles. “You’re welcome.”

  
  


Mission six: kill someone.

They don’t specify who. Just - kill someone. 

(“Who?” Changbin tries to ask. It’s always good to be knowledgeable about your target.)

(“You’ll see when we get there,” is the frustratingly ambiguous response. Changbin bites his lip, swallows a response. Well okay then.)

(After all if they say jump, he jumps. It’s his job to know how high and not ask any more questions.)

So he gets in the car and lets them buckle him in and then they’re off, backing out and driving onto the main road. 

  
  


It happens so quickly Jeongin doesn’t even get to process it.

One moment he’s watching Seungmin type on his laptop, face adorably twisted in concentration. There’s a little furrow between his brows and a pout subtly forming on his lips and Jeongin has to reign back an adoring coo.

He turns away for a split second, pushes off to look around Armistice Cemetary for a moment. Brushes a hand solemnly over a gravestone that rests over a mass grave. 

Even with its isolation fresh flowers are laid out over the marble, black roses and pale violet petunias. Bracelets, necklaces lie beneath the flowers, blue and green and white and silver, each arranged with a sort of reverence. This is an ageless place, a snapshot that Jeongin has carelessly stepped into.

And then hands grab him and pull him away. Someone gags him as he screams and someone else tazes him and Seungmin’s cry of  _ Jeongin!  _ echoes into the forest around them.

  
  


Changbin stares out the window and abruptly remembers - it should be Chan’s birthday today.

And he won’t even get to celebrate it; probably not anyway.

The thought hurts far more than Changbin thought it would. Birthdays don’t really matter that much anyway. It’s just another day, albeit a teensy bit more special than others.

But it was their little tradition, dancing for each other. And Changbin won’t be able to do it. Neither will Chan, or Jisung. They’ll be stuck in their cells and he’s stuck in this car driving off to kill some random schmuck he doesn’t even know for crying out loud.

It’s how the chrysanthemum crumbles, he supposes. Changbin knows what his teachers would have said, knows those words better than anyone else could. 

_ Grin and bear it, kid  _ (his combat teacher, probably) _.  _

_ You are a loyal soldier to the Monarch. You are allowed… attachments, but your duty is first and foremost to him  _ (etiquette teacher, definitely).

_ It’ll be fine. You ain’t missin’ much. 200 laps, now  _ (fitness teacher).

_ What are birthdays but meaningless days made to commemorate some ridiculous occasion? It is better for you that you do not celebrate them  _ (espionage teacher, probably).

And like, yeah. But Changbin still kind of wants to care. He still wants to give it some meaning because Chan had thought it meant something. And didn’t his espionage teacher enjoy constantly talking about how if you believe something hard enough it will be true?

(Yes, it was in a completely different context but that didn’t matter.)

They take a turn and veer onto a bumpy dirt path. Changbin raises his eyebrows in surprise as they drive into the forest. Either the person he’s supposed to kill lives in some sort of cabin in the woods, or they’re going to a hidden base or something.

“We’re here,” the guard announces after they’ve taken what feels like infinite turns, pulling into an isolated clearing next to a flowing river. Changbin lets himself get pulled out. “Are they there yet?”

Looking back, that should have been one of many signs that something was dearly,  _ dearly  _ wrong.

“In a minute, maybe.”

Changbin waits. Stands there like a shadow as a new car pulls up, black with tinted windows. Just like the one he came out of.

Is he seriously going to kill someone they’ve already caught? Anyone could do that. What was the point of his job, even?

The doors slide open and two people stumble out, are forced to their knees. Two pairs of eyes meet Changbin’s and the widening horror in them is mirrored in his own eyes.

He almost falls over. His hands shake. Changbin’s heart pounds against his ribcage, a heavy  _ thu-thump, thu-thump.  _ Blood rushes in his ears, bringing along a tidal wave of fear and disbelief. 

That’s - no. He refuses to believe it. Never and Changbin is tempted to shut his eyes, try to ignore what’s in front of him. 

Someone uncuffs him, presses a gun into his hands. Automatically, his fingers wrap around the handle.

This has to be a dream. It could not - the Monarch wouldn’t - he  _ couldn’t  _ -

\- but staring up at him, hands cuffed and gagged, are Chan and Jisung in the flesh.

“Choose one,” a guard says. He sounds almost  _ happy _ and Changbin has never hated someone more deeply than now. “The other will be spared. Choose none… and you will all die.”

He’s drowning. Blood rushes up to his ears. Panic grips him, unrelenting and powerful. Changbin feels himself sway and has to physically remind himself not to fall over. He meets Jisung’s eyes, brimming with tears and defiant fury. Chan’s eyes are filled with a quiet sort of acceptance, forgiveness that he doesn’t deserve.

_ Choose one, the other will be spared. Choose none, you will all die. _

_ Just shoot,  _ a voice urges.  _ You’ve trained for this exact moment, you know. Just shoot. Take the shot. You don’t even have to look. _

Changbin could do it. He has the physical capabilities to do it and he  _ knows  _ that it would be the best option, the only way at least one of them would survive except -

He just  _ can’t. _

The gun falls, hits the ground with a thud. Changbin watches, unmoving. Numb.

Someone’s laughing. Multiple someones are laughing.

“Can’t even do it, the coward…”

“All of that training a waste…”

“Shame, he’s such a pretty sub too…”

“Look at his lip quivering, like a little bunny -”

_ Bunny. _

**_Bunny_ ** **bunny** _ bunny _ bunny-

The world spirals. Blankness rushes up into his mind, consumes his being and suddenly everything cuts out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little bit longer than usual, haha. I originally had even more planned but then I realized that that was unwise and put the rest in the next chapter. 😁


	10. The Hypocrisy of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaat? Early chapter??
> 
> Yeah so I had a sudden burst of inspiration and ended up writing a lot and now here we are, with the tenth chapter. Happy Valentine's day to everyone celebrating, by the way! 💖
> 
> To all the people who I made suffer in the previous chapter, I am so sorry. Hopefully this chapter makes up for it. 
> 
> CW//murder (not described in graphic detail), panic attack, crying (a lot)
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -Jay

**...**

**...**

**“... always knew you were a fraud... ”**

**COMMAND NOT RECEIVED**

**“... ey get down you useless...”**

**COMMAND NOT RECEIVED**

**“... couldn’t kill us if he tried...”**

**...**

**COMMAND RECEIVED**

**TARGETS DETECTED**

**EXECUTING ORDERS**

  
  


_ He’s in a small room, probably concrete. Changbin - AO0161 back then - is sitting next to AO0512. If AO0161 knew what friendship was, he would say AO0512 was his friend. _

_ That ends when they’re placed into the Closet. Closet with a capital C because none of them have ever seen any other closets and so that’s the only one they know of. AO0161 dislikes the Closet. It feels way too small for his liking and smells bad and it’s dark so he can’t see anything. _

**“... stop! Get away from me!”**

**COMMAND NOT VALID**

_ He’s told only one of them can come out. AO0161 isn’t sure what that means. Does that mean one of them will have to stay there? He shudders at the thought and tries to squirm away but is picked up and tossed into the Closet anyway. The door clicks shut. _

_ “161?” _

  1. _AO0161 blinks quickly and speaks up. “Yes.” The word comes out with a lisp - a -th sound instead of -s - and he tries again. “Yes.” Clearer this time._



_ “Why… why are we here?” _

**“... call someone! Get he-”**

**COMMAND POSES RISK TO CURRENT ORDERS. DISABLE AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.**

_ “I don’t know,” AO0161 says. He curls his knees up to his chest. The Closet is dark. He can’t see anything. It’s scary. “Where…” _

_ “Here,” 512 says and there’s a shuffling sound. AO0161 turns his head towards it and reaches out blindly. Small fingers grasp his and then 512 is curling up next to him. 161 leans into 512’s shoulder. It feels safer here, with someone next to him. Maybe the Closet isn’t so bad. _

_ “I found something,” 512 whispers and he giggles. 161 giggles as well. Their laughter echoes through the Closet. “It’s pointy.” _

_ “Can I have it?” _

_ “Here.” _

**“... get it! No!”**

**DISABLED. CONTINUE WITH ORDERS.**

_ 161 takes the thing and winces. It is kind of pointy. He wonders what it’s doing in here. 161 moves his hand and curls his fingers around a less pointy part. The thing is a bit too big for his hands. _

_ “Why’s it here? Why’s. Why’s. Why’s it here?” _

_ “I don’t know,” 512 murmurs. He sounds sleepy. “M’ gonna sleep?” _

_ “Okie.” _

_ 161 gently slips away from 512 when he starts snoring and feels his way to the door, pointy thing tightly held in his hand. Maybe he could break the door with the pointy thing  _

_ He pushes at the door with the pointy end and pulls it out. The door doesn’t budge. _

_ Oh. Maybe not? _

_ 161 tries again. It doesn’t work. Huh. What was the pointy thing supposed to do, anyway? _

_ And then door swings open, light spilling into the Closet. _

**“...you’re a monster! Stop, do you hear me? We created you! Stop!”**

**COMMAND NOT VALID.**

**ORDERS EXECUTED**

**TARGETS DOWN**

**AWAITING ORDERS**

**“... mmf. Mmf. Mmf!”**

**ORDERS UNCLEAR**

**“... mm. Mmm.”**

**ORDERS UNCLEAR**

**“... Mm!”**

**REFERRING TO NORMAL INTELLIGENCE NOW**

**COMMAND DECIDED; REMOVE GAG**

**EXECUTING ORDERS**

_ “512,” a voice barks loudly. “Get up. _ _   
  
_

**ORDERS EXECUTED**

**AWAITING ORDERS**

**“Remove the restraints.”**

**COMMAND RECEIVED**

**EXECUTING ORDERS**

_ 512 starts, sitting up quickly. “Wha…?” _

**ORDERS EXECUTED**

**AWAITING ORDERS**

**“Follow us.”**

**COMMAND RECEIVED**

**EXECUTING ORDERS**

_ The big person stares at them. She looks unhappy and abruptly she rips the pointy thing out of 161’s hand. “Get over here.” _

_ 161 frowns as 512 stands up carefully and he reaches out to try and help him. Big Person bats his hand away and grabs 512 by the shoulder. _

**“That’s a palace vehicle.”**

**“They spotted us.”**

**“Kill the guards, BUN.”**

**COMMAND RECEIVED**

**TARGETS DETECTED**

**EXECUTING ORDERS**

_ “Treat this as a lesson,” Big Person says. They sound more gentle now. 161 frowns. Treat what as a lesson? _ _   
  
_

_ The pointy thing is driven into 512’s torso. He screams. 161 screams as well as the pointy thing is ripped out. Red runs down 512’s shirt, staining the grey fabric. _

_ Big Person shoves them both back into the closet and the door clicks shut. 161 reaches out and grasps a handful of wet fabric. _

_ “512?” he whispers. “512? Are you okay?” _

_ 512 whimpers. 161 crawls forwards, reaching out blindly. He grabs what feels like a hand. _

_ “It hurts,” 512 sobs. “It hurts.” _

**ORDERS EXECUTED.**

**AWAITING ORDERS.**

**“No way. It’s that guy. The I.N. one, who played that game.”**

**COMMAND NOT RECEIVED**

**“What’s he doing?”**

**COMMAND NOT RECEIVED**

**“A, B, C?”**

**COMMAND NOT RECEIVED**

**“Oh my god, what happened? Why are you covered in blood?”**

**COMMAND NOT RECEIVED**

**“You don’t need to know. What are you doing here?”**

**“Look, just… please. Can you help me?”**

**“... if you’ll give us something.”**

**“What?”**

**“Safety.”**

**“I - okay. That’s fine. Please help me, I have to get back to Armistice Cemetery.”**

**“Remove his restraints.”**

**COMMAND RECEIVED**

**EXECUTING ORDERS**

_ 161 feels tears well up in his eyes. They spill out, rolling down his cheeks. “512? 512? Why’s it hurt?” _

_ “I don’ know,” 512 slurs. “Don’ know.” _

**ORDERS EXECUTED**

**AWAITING ORDERS**

**“What’s… are you okay? You look really blank.”**

**“It’s nothing you need to know.”**

**“... okay. Help me out?”**

**“Wait no - ”**

**COMMAND RECEIVED**

**EXECUTING ORDERS**

_ Tears fall faster. 161 doesn’t bother wiping them away. He just wants to stop 512 from hurting. “What do I do? What do I do?” _

_ No response. _

_ 161 cries. Panics. Screams for help because “512 isn’t moving and I can’t feel the thump-thump thing!” _

_ No one comes. _

_ He keeps crying. He holds tightly onto 512’s delicate hand and cries and cries and cries until it feels like he’s out of tears.  _

_ 512 never moves. 161 cries harder, rocking back and forth. He can’t breathe. _

_Changbin doesn’t remember anything about his childhood; it’s mostly just a blur of pain and screaming that he tries to ignore._ _But sometimes he remembers a small wooden room and the taste of salt and iron on his tongue._

  
  


The world rushes back in extremely dramatic fashion. Changbin sways, grabs onto the first thing he can which turns out to be a car seat.

What… had happened?

Why was he covered in blood?

Where were Chan and Jisung?

  
_ Chan and Jisung. _

He hadn’t -

Changbin stands up in a fluid motion and leaps out the car, landing in a crouch. Where are -

“Shh, we’re here. We’re here, Bin. I’m here.”

Jisung. Chan.

Relief floods him so quickly he nearly falls. Jisung and Chan pull him into a group hug and he practically melts into their embrace.

“You’re not dead,” he whispers. “Did… they asked me to kill you.”

“You didn’t,” Chan says gently. “You got us out of there, B. You’re okay. We’re okay.”

Changbin sniffs. Tears well up in his eyes and he buries his face into Jisung’s chest. 

“I could have.”

“You didn’t and that’s what matters,” Jisung says fiercely. “It’s okay.”

It’s… 

“What did I do?” Changbin whispers. “Don’t try and sugarcoat it. Did I - ”

Chan doesn’t respond but looks at him silently, eyes shining. And that’s all the response he needs.

He’s a traitor. He’s truly, genuinely a traitor.

And the worst thing is… he can’t really feel regret. How do you regret something you can’t remember doing?

Changbin blinks back tears harshly and pulls out of their hug suddenly. “We have to get going,” he says and then stops short when he notices I.N., standing there with something like sadness written across his face. “What’s - ”

“Don’t kill him,” Jisung says, though he also shoots I.N. a suspicious look.

“He promised us safety,” Chan says quietly. From the North.

“But - ”

“We’re going with him,” Chan says and his voice is firmer now, though Changbin can sense the underlying fear. “We - we don’t - ”

Just like so many things in his short life, Changbin doesn’t have a choice.

“Fine,” he says quietly. “Let’s just - we need to go. Quickly.”

Chan nods. I.N. opens the door and they all troop in. Jisung takes the wheel - he’s the only one who even knows how to drive.

“Where to.”

“Armistice Cemetary. That way, I think.”

“Got it.”

Maybe Changbin can pretend this is a normal drive, going back from a successful mission. 

Who is he kidding. Absolutely not.

He’s really -  _ truly  _ \- a traitor now. Changbin killed the guards and now he’s voluntarily leaving North Allesia with the person he was supposed to kill. He’d done the one thing he swore he would never do and betrayed the Monarch.

Changbin wants to vomit. And cry, at the same time.

Thankfully, he doesn’t embarrass himself further by having an all-out breakdown on the carseat. He does, unfortunately, cry.

Chan notices, just compounding his frustration and self-hatred. A hand grasps his gently and rubs circles over Changbin’s knuckles. It only makes Changbin cry harder.

He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve Chan’s comfort or care, he doesn’t deserve to be sitting comfortably in the back of a car watching the trees pass by not even restrained or injured or  _ anything.  _

But Changbin was literally just down in fight-space and he’s exhausted. There’s a bruise blooming on his ribcage and he’s pretty sure his leg is bleeding a little and every single one of Changbin’s limbs hurt and his eyes hurt and he’s still crying and sometime between one blink and the next he falls asleep, tears still rolling down his cheeks.

  
  


Jeongin looks back for a moment at the sleeping assassin in the car. There are tear tracks running down his face. He can’t help feeling surprised.

He didn’t know they could cry. A always seemed so stoic. B, less so. C definitely.

C catches him staring and his eyes narrow into an expression that definitely says  _ stop.  _ Jeongin turns away obediently. Seungmin was like that too; defensive, afraid to cry or laugh or be affectionate or anything. 

(He’s not sure how similar a trio of assassins are to his boyfriend, but they’re from the same place. There has to be some similarities.)

“Go left,” is what he says instead. Jeongin can see through the back mirror that C is sort of curled around A, like a protective bubble. They all look exhausted, thinner than usual. 

What had happened? 

That was, he supposed, a question for later when they weren’t in North territory. They pull into Armistice Cemetary - finally neutral ground - and Jeongin opens the door, jumps out.

Seungmin is there, curled up next to a gravestone. Felix is hovering over him, trying to calm him down. Minho paces back and forth, talking with Hyunjin. All four look up immediately when they drive in.

“Jeongin!”

Jeongin immediately makes a beeline for Seungmin, brushing off the guards who try to ask him if he’s okay. “Seungmin,” he says gently, gathering Seungmin up in a hug. “Minnie. I’m okay, baby.”

Seungmin practically tackles him to the floor, practically crushing Jeongin in his arms. “Don’t  _ ever  _ do that again or I swear I will kill you myself, I was so scared Innie you have  _ no idea.” _

He only gets a small moment of respite when Seungmin’s grip loosens only for Felix, Hyunjin, and Minho who descend on them almost immediately.

“You idiots,” Minho hisses out. Jeongin can only laugh. Insulting people is Minho’s way of showing he cares. “Oh my  _ god,  _ never talk to me again. I’m disowning both of you - stop  _ laughing!” _

“You have no idea how worried we were,” Felix says, burying his face in Jeongin’s neck. “Seungmin basically went insane.”

“Why did you  _ do  _ that?” Hyunjin demands, thumping Jeongin on the chest. “We were terrified, Innie!”

Jeongin curls deeper into his boyfriend’s arms, still laughing. He’s a little overwhelmed and Seungmin seems to notice.

“Alright, guys, you can get off now.”

The weight disappears off his back and Jeongin murmurs a thank you into Seungmin’s chest, wiping a tear from his eye. He looks over to the car they had driven back in. The trio are still in there, probably because they were afraid of stepping into a clearing full of enemies.

“How did you get out?” Minho asks, frowning. He looks in the same direction as Jeongin and stiffens. “That’s not one of ours.”

“Okay,” Jeongin says, holding his hands out. “I had help and you have to tell everyone to not shoot or do anything.”

“What - ”

“You have to,” Jeongin insists. “Tell them.”

Minho sighs. “Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.” He gives the order anyway and Jeongin smiles, getting up and heading over to the car. Seungmin and Hyunjin trail after him.

He tugs gently at the door handle, jiggling it. There’s a brief moment of silence and then it swings open. B eyes them with open suspicion, C right behind him. A is still asleep in the back seat.

“You did  _ not,”  _ Seungmin hisses. “No way.”

Jeongin pecks a kiss onto Seungmin’s cheek and smiles apologetically. “Surprise?”

  
  


People are talking. Loudly. Why are they talking so loudly? It hurts his ears.   
  


Changbin wonders whether or not he should open his eyes, but he feels exhausted and just sort of numb. The world fades in gradually. He’s suspended in time, listening to the world pass by.

Someone yells. Changbin suppresses a flinch. He’s long past actually showing his reactions to loud noises and yelling sounds, but it still affects him. Chan isn’t in the back seat with him anymore; he’s with Jisung in the front. They’re not the ones yelling; it’s the people outside. 

He finds the strength to sit up and actually look out the tinted windows. That doesn’t give him a very clear view of whoever’s outside. Changbin slowly unbuckles the seatbelt and makes his way over to the front, perching on the glove compartment.

Those people are definitely familiar and Changbin rubs his eyes, trying to remember who they were. His brain feels fuzzy. Chan notices him and tries to nudge him back with a whispered  _ “Get more rest”  _ but Changbin pushes his arm away. He has to know who that is. They could be a threat.

“B, get more rest,” Chan says insistently. He’s very caring. Has Changbin ever told him thank you for that? He can’t recall ever saying thank you, which was definitely impolite in some way but Changbin doesn’t really think talking would be good right now. Talking isn’t bad, really, but this is one of those times where it’s just a no-no.

But Chan probably wants a response to his statement so Changbin just shakes his head. He’s already had rest and those people aren’t North people they really resemble some of his old targets so Changbin should probably kill them.

Should he?

Where were they, anyway?   
  


Changbin ducks back into the backseat and rolls down the window, looks around. They’re in the middle of a cemetery. Odd. How did they get here? Why were his targets just standing in front of them? Why was he not killing them yet? It felt like he shouldn’t, but that wasn’t right. Changbin was made for one purpose and that was to do his duty. And doing his duty probably meant killing his targets.

He taps Chan’s shoulder and mouths,  _ “Should I kill them?” _

Chan shakes his head.  _ “No.” _

So he was right and Changbin wasn’t supposed to kill them.  _ “Why?”  _ he has to ask.  _ “They’re targets.” _

Chan’s brows furrow and then his eyes widen and he nods.  _ “Not anymore.” _

And that was extremely confusing. Changbin takes a moment to consider it but his mind isn’t working properly and he just ends up abandoning the train of thought altogether. Maybe he should get more rest. If they’re not targets they’re allies. It should be fine to let down his guard for a bit.

He leans against the side of the seat and shuts his eyes but just as he prepares to go to sleep Jisung taps his arm. Changbin opens his eyes, alert. Maybe they aren’t allies?

“We’re getting out of the car now,” Jisung says softly. Oh, alright. Changbin waits for Jisung to move and then slides out smoothly. The sky is cloudy. It might rain.

Chan comes out behind them and shuts the door. Changbin quietly trails after Jisung, eyeing the people around them carefully. Just because he shouldn’t kill them doesn’t mean they won’t try and kill him.

“This way.”

“In here.”

“Get some rest, B. You need it.”

Changbin waits for them to start moving and then he closes his eyes - mostly. A sliver of light filters in through the gap in his eyelids. The steady rhythm of the car is kind of soothing.

Where are they going, anyway?

It strikes Changbin that they’re probably not going up North and he opens his eyes, looks out the window. They’re driving on a dirt road, through a forest. He doesn’t recognize it at all.

That isn’t good, right?

“Go to sleep,” both Chan and Jisung insist, at the same time. 

“Really, I mean it,” Jisung follows up.

“You’ve been through a lot,” Chan finishes. “Actually close your eyes and sleep, okay?”

Changbin tosses one last glance outside, over at the people driving. Obediently closes his eyes, breathes steadily.  _ In, out. In, out.  _

He counts sixty breaths until sleep overwhelms his body and Changbin feels the world slip away into nothing.

  
  


“Wake up.”

That’s Chan’s voice. 

Changbin’s first thought is  _ did he succeed?  _ That’s the only possibility. He succeeded in his tasks and Chan and Jisung are still alive - and he is, too. He did it.

And then the world comes crashing back down.

The last task. Being forced to choose between Chan and Jisung. Someone saying his trigger word and getting thrown down into fight-space.

It’s a blur and Changbin is so,  _ so  _ grateful for that.

He dares to finally open his eyes. They’re in a car - one different from the North ones. The people in the front seat are -

Changbin digs his fingernails into the seat fabric. Tears out a few threads. He doesn’t care.

He wants an explanation and he is going to get one.

“C,” he hisses out softly, “what. Happened.”

Chan looks at him with something like sadness. Jisung gently takes his hand and laces his fingers with Changbin’s.

“You went down,” Chan says, “and…”

Changbin glances at the driver’s seat, where Lee freaking Minho is sitting, watching them apathetically. Looks outside, recognizes the mansion. The apothecary. Everything.

He doesn’t want an explanation. Changbin wants to go take a long walk into the ocean.

“If you three are quite done,” Lee drawls, “we’re exiting.” He opens the door. “Don’t even think of any funny business. You’re going to go with us willingly and give us the information we request. And you won’t do anything funny. That includes maiming, murdering, trying to run, resisting, anything harmful. Got it?”

Never mind. He wants an explanation but Changbin knows how to recognize times when he just has to bite his tongue and go along with it.

_ Patience is a virtue,  _ his etiquette teacher preached.  _ You wait for permission before speaking. Minutes, hours, days, whatever. It doesn’t matter. You keep your silence and wait. _

So he keeps his silence. And waits. And tries to ignore the voice screaming at him to just  _ kill him, he’s your target, you don’t leave a target alive. _

They’re restrained. Of course they are. Changbin’s been in handcuffs a lot these past days (weeks?) but it doesn’t mean he gets used to it. At all.

He just wants to be home. He wants to see the gardens and breathe in the lightly perfumed air and feel comfortable. It’s not too much to ask for - except maybe it is because he didn’t even complete his job and whenever he’s under it’s always a blur but Changbin remembers the screams and a hoarse yell that  _ you’re a monster. _

It stands out to him for some reason. Changbin swallows and tastes a faint hint of iron on his tongue. He’s too familiar with the taste of blood at this point. 

Blood tastes like iron. Like rust and metal and dirt but sharper in a way. It comes with the faint stinging feeling so often associated with pain, so your body automatically knows.  _ I’m bleeding. I must have pain. _

At this point, Changbin just doesn’t feel it anymore. Blood tastes of rust and years of getting thrown into the dirt until he learned to fight back. Water is cool and feels like relaxation. Grass is green and reminds Changbin of not happiness but peace, sitting in the sunlight and feeling the breeze pass by. Everything in its place, everything nice and proper.

Until now.

They’re marched inside the mansion, flanked by guards on all sides. Changbin looks around. It’s not nearly as opulent as the palace; simple white walls, hardwood with a red carpet. A table to the left holding a flower vase, a painting on his right. The lights are softer, not as bright as the palace ones. There aren’t as many windows.

Changbin is too tired to judge the appearance.

(There’s no symmetry at all. No uniformity. The decorations seem random.)

(He’ll never admit that it’s kind of appealing, the homelike appearance. It feels cozy. Changbin has never thought of anything as cozy.)

(But it also makes him feel sort of restless, though that could be the guards and the fact that he’s in  _ enemy territory surrounded by people who probably want to kill him _ .)

The room they end up is more comfortable than a prison cell. Changbin might have grown up in a palace but he’s been in plenty of horrible places and knows how to appreciate this sort of small comfort. Chan silently takes a seat and Changbin automatically sits next to him because whatever happened, Chan is still their leader. Chan is still the boy with too-big shoulders and quiet eyes who held Changbin’s hand when he cried. Jisung settles next to Changbin, sitting tall.

(Jisung has always been that person, who never loses his pride. Changbin kind of admires him for it, especially now.)

Another person joins them - Changbin vaguely remembers his face from the file. Kim Seungmin, he thinks. Maybe.

He watches as Kim sits down, clasping his hands. He’s wearing a bracelet, made out of green ribbon with a little wooden charm. Changbin wonders what the point of that could be, then diverts his attention to what Kim is doing.

“What are your names. Honest answers.”

Changbin looks over at Chan. So does Jisung. Chan looks back for a split second, but that’s all they need.  _ Don’t worry. Follow my lead. It’ll be okay.  _

“Bang Chan,” Chan says. Full names, then. Jisung gives him a look.

_ You go next. _

_ No you. _

_ No you. _

It’s childish, almost. Kind of funny, considering his job. Changbin goes first anyway. They all dote on Jisung.

“Seo Changbin.”

“Han Jisung,” Jisung says.

Three assassins and the leader of a rival country walk into a room. It sounds like one of those bad jokes Changbin heard (and secretly found funny, but he wouldn’t ever admit that).

“What are your motivations?”

It’s Chan who initiates their little communication spree, this time. Changbin glances between him and Jisung. They never had motives. It was just their duty.

“We don’t know,” Chan says. Lee’s brows furrow.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

Kim’s reaction is different, though. He watches them with a sort of calculating calm and that scares Changbin more than any show of power ever could.

He knows something. This person knows something that they don’t and that’s dangerous. 

What does he know? What does he want?

“What do you think the motives are?” Kim asks. Changbin blinks.

Why would he want to know? He’s never had to care before. Get in, kill some people or steal something, get out. The motives were for other people to decide. Not in his job description.

Chan just shrugs. So does Jisung. Changbin, a little reluctantly, shrugs as well.

But that’s not the answer Kim wants, if his silence is any indication. Changbin doesn’t speak, keeps silent. Even if he knew the motives, that’s not his to disclose. You don’t go back on training.

Jisung does answer, though.

“You’re South,” he says bluntly, voice edged with animosity. “You lead South.”

Lee doesn’t seem satisfied. Kim’s face remains blank but he silently nods and moves on.

“How did you get in.”

It’s Chan who answers this time. 

“There’s a street behind your house. We got in through there.”

Kim types it down.

“And how did you get out.”

“Sewer system.”

More typing. Changbin stares fixedly at the smooth black surface of the laptop. 

“How old are you.”

“24,” is Chan’s automatic response. He’d just had his birthday today, Changbin remembers.

Happy birthday, Chan. 

_ I’m so sorry. _

“21,” Jisung says. His birthday was longer ago. And now it’s his turn and Changbin fumbles with the words, stumbles.

He doesn’t know. Changbin knows it’s somewhere around the low twenties. He’s older than Jisung but younger than Chan. That narrows it down to 22 and 23.

(When was his birthday, again? Chan and Jisung insisted on celebrating at the end of every year because “even if you don’t know you should have a birthday, y’know?”)

“He’s 22,” Chan fills in when the silence starts getting awkward. 

Or maybe not, but it’s not like Changbin can give a more precise estimate.

Kim nods. Types it down. 

Three assassins and the leader of a rival country walk into a room. It’s the start of many cheesy jokes Changbin has heard, during the little downtime they have between missions. Had.

The one question that was never answered is, who walks out?


	11. All We Have Are Flaws

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a teensy bit more angst. 
> 
> I'm lying. Most of this story is angst, but that's what y'all are here for. We're not out of the woods yet, but this and the next chapter will (probably) be softer than usual. 
> 
> CW//panic attack, identity issues?
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -Jay

Lee and Kim leave eventually after asking a few more questions. The door clicks shut, leaving them sitting in silence.

Chan fidgets. Jisung chews his lower lip. Changbin - he doesn’t know. He stays still. Years of training have never failed him.

Someone has to break the silence and it might as well be him. He needs an explanation.

“What happened?”

Jisung shares a look with Chan, a look thet carries sadness and worry and exhaustion all at the same time. Changbin waits. He trusts them to at least tell him.

“You went down,” Chan says. His voice is quiet but it carries easily throughout the room. “The guards - they said something about how you couldn’t kill them.”

He didn’t. Changbin - he’d suspected but he didn’t want to believe it.

But Changbin in fight-space doesn’t care for alliances. Doesn’t care for the loyalty that he normally has. All that exists is the current order and the next orders. 

“I killed them,” he says and it manages to be a question and a statement at the same time. His voice comes out shaky. Changbin looks down at the bloodstains on his shirt, touches the bruise on his cheek, sees them in an entirely new light.

That’s the blood of his people. Blood of his allies. Blood of the people he was supposed to fight with, not murder. 

The tears come because of course they do. Changbin’s throat closes up.

_ Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry. Not here. Don’t cry. _

On principle, Changbin rarely cries. During the occasions he does cry it’s near-silent, alone in a room/cell or at night, when the darkness is enough to hide his tears. 

This isn’t one of those occasions.

He blinks back tears furiously, trying to hold it in. Jisung touches his wrist and whatever remaining threads of self control Changbin had ever had snaps, edges frayed. Sobs tear out of his chest, ripping through his throat. It’s visceral and far more painful than Changbin could have ever imagined and he can’t even move his hands to at least stifle his cries.

Chan shuffles over and leans into Changbin’s chest and Jisung moves over to press up against his back, silent pillars of support. His eyes are blurry but Changbin thinks that Chan might also be crying and it just makes him feel worse.

The one thing he swore he’d never do. Who Changbin swore he’d never be and now he’s turned into his own enemy. He killed the guards and willingly went with people who were supposed to be his targets. He’s a traitor. Disloyalty is punishable with death.

He can’t ever return now. Whether Changbin likes it or not, he has to stay here, in the South. 

“It’s okay,” Chan chokes out. Changbin cries harder at that, leaning forwards to muffle his sobs into Chan’s chest. “It’s okay. We’re okay. It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Jisung whispers but the sound rings out louder than anything Chan had said. Maybe because they all know it’s true. It’s not okay.

They’re all silent for a moment. Changbin wipes his tears messily on his shoulder. He wants to scream and cry but at the same time he wants to fall asleep and never wake up.

Chan is the first one to break and that just makes it  _ worse. _

_ “I’m so sorry,”  _ he sobs out, words pressed into Changbin’s neck. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

His back is wet. Jisung is crying too. They’re all crying at this point. Changbin dimly registers more tears falling out of his eyes, soaking into his shirt. 

Chan is slumped against Changbin’s chest, falling apart right in front of his eyes and he can’t even muster up the strength to comfort him. Jisung isn’t doing much better, staining Changbin’s skin with the feeling of his tears, wetness sliding down his back. 

His chest feels like it’s going to be ripped apart and if this is heartbreak Changbin never wants to feel love. Changbin holds his breath tightly, tries to stop the flow of tears, tries to think. 

“Don’t cry,” Jisung says. His voice is thick. “Please don’t cry, C. B.” There’s a wet coughing sound. Chan cries even harder.

“It’s my fault. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

“No,” Changbin says, somehow finds strength to create words. He opens his mouth, tries to say more. His throat is sore. “No - it’s mine - this isn’t - C, it’s not your fault!”

His voice isn’t even that loud but it makes Changbin’s ears ring. Chan doesn’t move and neither does Jisung.

“It’s mine,” Changbin whispers. Feels the last shred of his non-existent composure dissolve away. “I did this. This is all my fault.”

It’s all his fault. Everything that happened. Changbin should have been faster in the hallway when they were trying to rescue Chan. Shouldn’t have dropped in the last task, shouldn’t have taken the non-existent order. 

He tastes blood and realizes he bit a piece of his tongue off. Rust and iron and salt and dirt and the bitter taste of regret, all mixed into the worst kind of feeling. Changbin’s ears start to ring.

Chan is saying something. So is Jisung. Changbin can’t hear it, white noise drowning out both their voices.

He might be crying, he might not. The door might have opened, it might not have. There might be footsteps or maybe it’s a product of his mind. Changbin’s falling, can’t feel anything, can’t think. Emptiness doesn’t hurt and maybe that’s for the best.

  
  


They’re crying. Felix feels his heart twinge.

All three are curled into a pile. The one in the middle stares blankly at the opposite wall, not seeming to notice the tears that steadily roll down his cheeks. The one at the back looks up and glares. It’s not very intimidating. And the one in front doesn’t seem to care about Felix’s entrance, murmuring things to the middle one.

This may not be the best time, he realizes, but Felix likes to think he’s good at comforting people so he steps forwards.

“What’s wrong?” he asks gently. “Are you okay? What are your names again?”

One in front finally looks up. “Bang Chan,” he says hoarsely. 

The one at back mutters, “Han Jisung.”

Middle one is… 

One at back gently nudges middle one, who barely reacts.

“Seo Changbin,” Bang Chan finally says. Felix nods.

“Thank you.”

He crouches next - though not too close - to Changbin. “Hey,” Felix says softly. “Can you hear me?”

No response. 

Chan and Jisung watch him with pure suspicion. Jisung actually goes so far as to shift forwards a bit, as if shielding Changbin from him. It would usually, Felix thinks dryly, be the other way around. But he has to digress.

“Breathe with me,” Felix says, keeping his voice gentle. No quick changes of volume, keep his voice steady. “Can I?”

Jisung looks at Chan and they share a weighted look. Felix wonders what they’re thinking. 

“If you hurt him I  _ will  _ kill you,” Jisung says finally. Chan says nothing but glares with enough power to rival a goose.

“I won’t, I promise,” Felix says sincerely. He would normally have Changbin feel his heartbeat but that’s not possible now so he asks, “Can you have him place his head on my chest?”

Another moment of silent communication. Felix ponders for a moment on the idea that they have telepathy and then shelves the thought away for later.

Chan finally nudges Changbin towards Felix and he catches the boy before Changbin can topple over, gently adjusting his head so Changbin can hear Felix’s heartbeat. “Can you breathe with me? In…. out. In…. out. Like that. You’re doing well. Good. Keep going.”

Seungmin comes in and Felix quickly shushes him. “Glass of water,” he mouths, praying Seungmin will get it. Luckily, he does and leaves. 

Jisung and Chan have shuffled closer in the brief moment, watching Felix with a mix of abject confusion and suspicion. 

“B,” Jisung says softly and Felix has the feeling he would reach out if he could. “Are you okay?”

“B?” Chan echoes. Felix has to wonder why they only call each other by letters. He knows their names, so it’s not like hiding it would help.

Seungmin comes back in with a glass of water and Felix wordlessly takes it, pressing the rim to Changbin’s lips. As if on autopilot, Changbin opens his mouth and drains the cup, unblinking. Jisung and Chan move closer, worry written across their face.

Changbin stares at Felix’s chest for a moment. He blinks. Looks up and meets Felix’s eyes.

“Are you okay?” is the first thing that comes out of Felix’s mouth. Changbin sits there, perfectly still, and then abruptly rolls off and onto his feet. He doesn’t even have use of his hands and Felix already feels a little threatened.

“What the - ”

“B,” Jisung says, standing up and practically tackling Changbin into a hug. Chan joins the pile. “You’re okay? You’re okay, right?”

“I…”

He doesn’t look okay. He just looks defeated. There’s none of the cold fire in his eyes Felix had seen when he’d first met Changbin. It’s strangely sad.

Changbin meets his eyes across the room and immediately looks away, blinking fast. Felix watches as Chan and Jisung roll off and all three sit in a straight row. Jisung’s eyes are red. Chan has visible tear tracks. Changbin is silently crying.

Seungmin looks awkward. Felix feels just as awkward. How did you comfort literal assassins? Assassins who tried to kill them? 

But everyone’s looking at him (excluding one person) and Felix kind of fumbles. Flails.

“We should get you new clothes,” is what rushes out of his mouth. Seungmin presses his lips together, probably stifling a laugh. Chan is still staring at the floor but his brows furrow. Jisung frowns. Changbin looks up gives him the most perfect deadpan look Felix has ever seen and he lives with Seungmin.

“I mean,” Felix continues because he can’t stop the train now, that would be inappropriate, “those clothes are ugly and you look like you’ve been wearing them for ages.”

Jisung’s face twists into one of vague insult. Chan’s face smoothes out to something neutral. Changbin’s deadpan gets even more deadpan.

“So we’re going shopping,” Felix says. Seungmin is definitely making fun of him. Jerk. “You’re not staying in… what is that, a tunic?”

He meant it as a joke but Changbin looks genuinely insulted.

“You’re, what, four centimeters taller than me? Don’t pretend you wouldn’t look the same in this shirt.”

Seungmin lets out a choked snort. Felix blinks and then smiles.

At least he was feeling better.

  
  


They’re going shopping.

Has Changbin been shopping? Groceries, occasionally, if they’re on a mission for a really long time. Other than that, never. Especially not for clothes. They had the same set all their life and it was just a matter of doing laundry and being careful.

Jisung leans on him as they stumble into the back of a car. Changbin lets him. Not much point in avoiding physical contact now. 

(His mind still hasn’t really caught up to the reality of this situation and Changbin is perfectly fine with delaying that, at least for a little bit.)

The car pulls up in front of a store. Changbin, Chan, and Jisung are signaled to exit the car and the handcuffs are unlocked.

“Let’s go,” Yongbok says, seemingly the leader of this little voyage. Changbin flexes his wrists and fingers, rolls his shoulders. It feels good to have his hands. Hwang pushes open the door and they all file in like a line of ducklings. 

Being inside a clothing store is a weird, surreal experience. The lights are fluorescent, some cheerful song is playing in the background. Changbin sees a white figure to his left wearing a beanie and turns around, confused. It’s a humanlike figure, perched on top of some sort of stool. It’s also wearing a white shirt, blue jean jacket, and black sweatpants.

How odd.

“There’s so many clothes,” Jisung whispers, sounding awed and also a little scared. Chan reaches for Changbin’s hand and grasps it tightly. “What do people do with these?”

“I don’t know,” Changbin whispers back. There’s a hoodie coloured in a weirdly garish orange with a cat motif on it and he immediately decides in that moment that he is absolutely not wearing that. Horrible for stealth. Sleeves too wide and could be grabbed. The strings, too.

‘Who wears that?’ Chan mouths, indicating a pair of ripped jeans. ‘If I wanted ripped clothes I’d do it myself.’

Jisung shrugs. Changbin shrugs. The South was apparently a lot weirder than he thought.

They’re all split apart eventually. Changbin is herded off with Yongbok (honestly embarrassing), Jisung gets paired up with Hwang (probably a bad choice seeing as Jisung is trying to murder him with eye contact alone) and Chan is lumped in with Lee (they seem like they’d be able to stand each other but Changbin honestly isn’t sure).

“So,” Yongbok says eventually. “What do you like?”

That was a loaded question. Changbin quickly goes through his mental list of likes and dislikes. This was probably related to clothing, right? What clothing did he like?

He’s getting an expectant look now and that definitely means he has to respond so Changbin quickly resorts to the response which is always his go-to when he has no idea what to say.

“I don’t know.”

Perfect.

“That’s okay,” Yongbok says cheerfully. He seems very cheerful. “We’ll find something you like. What’s your favourite colour?”

How was he supposed to know that? 

“I don’t know?”

Yongbok pauses for a moment at that, giving him a weird look. “You don’t have a favourite colour?”

Changbin shrugs. Was he supposed to know his favourite colour? Some were fine, others weren’t as fine but not bad. Black was probably the best one for stealth and that was a lot of what he did so -

“I guess black.”

“Well there we go,” Yongbok says, satisfied. “Though black is technically a shade, but whatever. Do you like any other colours?”

“Dark blue?” Dark blue was also fine. And gray. Dark gray. For stealth.

“You really like dark, huh.”

Well, dark was the best place to hide in, so Changbin supposed he liked dark. Maybe. It was more like a symbiotic relationship with dark instead of any liking, but that was the same thing.

“Sure.”

Yongbok regards him for a still moment, gaze pensive. It makes Changbin’s hackles rise automatically. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” is the response. “Think you’d like this?”

Changbin eyes the pair of black ripped jeans. “Why is it ripped?”

“Fashion, of course!”

Well that was just weird. Ripping the jeans left your skin more prone to the elements and defeated the purpose of wearing black in the first place. Yongbok is still looking at him rather expectantly so Changbin shakes his head. He’s still drifting on that wave of disconnect, honestly. It’ll come crashing down soon and that’s not going to be fun, but Changbin will take his wins where he can get them.

“What about this?”

‘This’ is a dark blue jacket. It’s not as dark as Changbin would like, but as far as utility goes it’s decent.

“Sure.”

Yongbok smiles brightly. Changbin has only ever seen a smile that wide on Jisung before. It’s a little impressive and also kind of odd. “Great!” He holds the jacket up to Changbin’s torso and Changbin steps away instinctively. “Hold on, I gotta see if it fits. What size are you?”

“How do I know?” Changbin snaps, dodging another attempt at holding the jacket to his shoulders.

“How… do you not know?”

This is verging into personal territory. Changbin is deeply uncomfortable and he’s starting to feel panic rising up in his chest.

He is not having a… he’s not going to start crying in a clothing shop out of all places.

“Have you never been to a clothing store?” Yongbok asks and he finally,  _ finally  _ gives Changbin some space.

“No,” Changbin says. He’s keenly aware of the guards eyeing him suspiciously. He doesn’t really care, honestly. “Does it matter?”

Something odd is creeping into Yongbok’s face and Changbin isn’t sure if he likes it or not. 

“It doesn’t matter but… oh well. Where have you been?”

Changbin shrugs. The palace, obviously. Varying buildings and counties, either in the North or outside. The South, more recently.

He picks a safe location to talk about. “A warehouse that made sponges.”

“Oh, really? Tell me about it.”

There’s no sarcasm in his words and Changbin isn’t on Jisung’s level but he’s pretty decent when it comes to reading people.

“There were sponges?”

“What did you do there?”

Well that was just awkward. 

Yongbok passes his a black t-shirt and Changbin takes a quick glance at the width of the shoulders. What had he done? Held it against his shoulders? Changbin tries it. Looked fine. He sets it in the cart.

“I planted bombs.”

No other way to say it, really.

“... what for?”

How did Changbin tell this person who was supposed to be his enemy that he went to a sponge warehouse and planted bombs there to collapse it for a gauntlet created by the Monarch that he had to pass so his friends could live? And wasn’t even able to pass it and ‘oh yeah, that’s why I’m in the South with people I was supposed to kill, y’know, because the last mission was to kill either Chan or Jisung and I obviously didn’t kill either of them but instead betrayed the country I’ve lived in for -’ what did Chan say his age was again? 22? ‘-22 years.’

That would raise many unnecessary questions and Changbin digs his fingernails into his thighs, holds his breath for exactly thirty seconds to force himself to calm down. Not the most effective solution, but it’s the only one he knows.

“You don’t have to answer,” Yongbok says after the very long pause (Changbin, who is still holding his breath, doesn’t exactly have the ability  _ to  _ answer). “I’m guessing it’s for, like, a mission?”

Basically.

Changbin releases his breath silently, feels oxygen flood painfully back into his lungs. “Basically.”

“What is it like, anyway?” Yongbok asks, handing over a grey sweater. Changbin takes one look at the loose sleeves, gives himself one second to think it might be comfortable, and shakes his head. “Being an assassin?”

How did he... answer that question? It was just his life. In fact, doing something as dumb as clothes shopping was stranger than infiltrating a sponge warehouse to place bombs there. 

“You wait a lot,” is what he settles on saying. It was true. 

“Really?”

Changbin shrugs. “Mmhm.”

Yongbok is silent for a moment and Changbin lets his thoughts drift off. There appears to be some curtained-off rooms to the left. What were those for? Storage? A curtain wasn’t an effective barrier. 

“Hey, try this?”

He tunes back into the current events. Yongbok has a big grin on his face. Clutched in his hands is a bright pink sweater.

It’s pink. And definitely too big. There’s a butterfly embroidered on the sleeve in blue thread. 

Too colourful. Too bright. Too noticeable. Too grabbable. Too extravagant. Thousands of complaints rise up to his lips, the word  _ no  _ settles on his tongue.

What comes out is instead a quiet shrug.

Yongbok catches on scarily fast. “Wait, you like it?”

Changbin dodges an attempt to put the sweater against his shoulders. “I don’t want it,” is what he says next. “Put it back - ”

“Hold still - ”

“What do you  _ mean  _ hold still - ”

“I have to see if it fits - ”

“I don’t even  _ want  _ it!”

“But you like it?”

“How are those even related in  _ any  _ way?”

Yongbok stops in his tracks, staring at Changbin with a surprised look. Changbin is honestly just grateful he’s not attempting to hold a sweater against his chest. 

He’s not very grateful for the piercing stare he gets in return, like Yongbok is trying to decipher what he’s made of. Changbin resists the urge to fidget or snap into parade rest.

“What?”

Changbin regrets it the moment the word comes out of his mouth. It sounds too defensive and the stare he’s getting turns into something like sadness.

“Don’t you want something you like?”

“That’s how the brain works,” Changbin snaps. He feels too exposed and instinctively he casts a quick look around the store, searches for any hiding place where he could curl up and stay for maybe an hour or two. “Doesn’t mean you should get it.”

“Sometimes yeah, but why now? You like it so get it.”

How was Changbin supposed to explain that there was no point in getting something so flashy when it wasn’t even going to provide any use but warmth and he already had a jacket for that?

“It’s useless,” is what he says. “I have a jacket already.”

Yongbok sighs quietly. “That’s not how it works,” he says like Changbin needs to learn how  _ clothes  _ of all things work. He’s not a child, he knows the basic concept of clothing. You wear it if it’s helpful and that’s it. “If there’s something you like and you can get it which you definitely can, you should get it.”

“It’s not even useful,” Changbin says and pulls the sweater out of Yongbok’s hands. “The sleeves are too wide. The colour’s too bright. It’s not good for anything but protection from temperatures and the jacket is better for that.”

There’s pure silence for a moment. Out of the corner of his eye, Changbin sees Jisung snatch a red shirt from where it was hanging on the wall and dump it in the cart. 

“Tell me,” Yongbok says softly. “Do you… actually like dark colours? Or is it because they’re useful?”

This was getting way too personal. Changbin is very,  _ very  _ tempted to crawl under the nearby display of sweaters - all in viciously bright colours - and hide. Hide because Yongbok is registering as a threat in his mind right now and Changbin doesn’t get scared, doesn’t like to let himself feel afraid or sad or anything because that hampers his efficiency at work but  _ he’s definitely feeling those right now. _

His silence is all that’s needed because Yongbok sighs softly and drops the sweater into the cart. Changbin stares at the blue butterfly sewn onto the left sleeve and feels his throat close up, tears rising unbidden to his eyes.

He likes it. He does  _ not  _ like the person in front of him and Changbin feels cold suddenly. Wants Chan and Jisung, wants to feel their touch.

“You shouldn’t worry about whether or not something is useful, you know,” Yongbok says and that’s  _ not helping right now please stop talking  _ but of course he continues. “It’s what you like that matters more.”

No it’s not. No it’s not. If what Changbin liked mattered more he wouldn’t have had to go through a gauntlet of tasks to obtain even the slightest chance of his friends living they would have been alive without any cost and he wouldn’t have killed his own allies and -

_ Chan and Jisung,  _ his mind says.  _ Get to Chan and Jisung. Make sure they’re safe. They have to be safe. _

And Changbin is nothing if not obedient so he quietly walks through the line of guards, dodging their attempts at grabbing him and makes a beeline towards Jisung.

“Sushi is way better than cheesecake, what are you even  _ talking  _ about.”

“You said onions are bad, you have no input in what good food is.”

Frankly Changbin doesn’t care about whatever argument they’re having (Jisung’s probably right). He heads straight towards Jisung, who turns around and immediately shoves through the line of guards to meet him.

_ Hug me,  _ Changbin doesn’t say because that would be embarrassing. Instead he gives Jisung a quick once-over; no visible injuries, no limp, eyes a little red from yesterday. Everything alright.

“You’re here, thank the skies above. I need someone with actual taste. Hey, Hwang! You’re wrong!”

“No I’m not!”

“You’re probably wrong,” Changbin says, somehow finding the strength to say words. He lets Jisung tug him towards Hwang, appreciating the feeling of physical contact. Where is Chan? Was he okay? Changbin detaches from Jisung for a second to look over towards where Chan was.

“Have you even tried sushi?”

“I don’t have to. If  _ you  _ like it I definitely won’t.”

Time to find Chan.

Changbin ducks out before he can get involved in the incoming argument (he’d never tried either of sushi or cheesecake and he didn’t really care, honestly) and heads towards Chan. He spots Yongbok out of the corner of his eye and speeds up.

“C.”

Chan hears it and Changbin exhales a silent sigh of relief when Chan drops the jeans he was holding and heads towards Changbin.

“You good?”

They don’t hug. They don’t exchange any words of comfort or discuss their feelings or whatever it is. Changbin just brushes his shoulder with Chan’s, directs his nerves towards making sure Chan is alright. No visible injuries, no limp, eyes a little red from last night but otherwise all fine. Good. That’s how it should be. Another small puzzle piece settles into place but the rest remains blank and unordered.

Chan doesn’t press him, thankfully, and looks around for Jisung. Both Lees trail after them and so do a small army of guards.

(It’s not like Changbin would kill someone in a clothing store, that’s the worst place to kill someone, all wide-open where civillians could and definitely would notice. Collateral isn’t good.)

Jisung spots them approaching from a mile away and heads towards them. “Hwang is being  _ stupid.” _

“I’m sure,” Changbin mutters. Jisung snorts and quietly leans on Chan’s other side. 

“Find anything cool?”

He hesitates. Does he talk about the pink sweater or not?

Luckily, Chan does it for him.

“I found this weird sheer shirt,” he says. “It’s like mesh. Not sure what it’s for.”

“You’re not getting that, are you?”

Chan shakes his head. “Probably not.”

“Makes sense,” Jisung says and he cracks a small smile. Changbin glances at the too-long shirt he is still wearing and it occurs to him he should probably tie it up. So he does. The Lees and Hwang are standing next to each other in the background, not saying anything but just watching their interactions. It makes Changbin want to curl up in a ball and hide in the nearby spinning rack of jeans.

(So many jeans. So much denim. Half are ripped.)

(He just wants to go to sleep and not think about the events of this day because it was too exhausting and also wail at a punching bag for a couple hours. Both would work.)

  
  


Felix glances back at the trio in their backseat through the rearview mirror. Changbin is mostly hidden from view by Felix’s own chair. Jisung’s head and side are visible and that’s mostly it. Chan meets his eyes through the mirror and his face rearranges into a glare.

_ Stop looking,  _ his eyes say.  _ You don’t get to do that.  _ Animosity and fierce devotion, all in one stare. Felix obligingly looks away, though he sneaks one more glance back at Changbin. He’s staring out the window, eyelids half-lowered. 

There’s a lot of questions Felix wants to ask and he’s going to get answers, one way or another.


	12. Interlude: The Map Of My Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to our first interlude! I debated over the title for ages until finally deciding on what it is now (and it might be changed later because god figuring out the title was hard). 
> 
> This chapter is mostly because I wanted to provide deeper insight into Chan/Jisung and their character. It was really fun to write and I might do another one later into the story or after this one. 
> 
> No warning, I think, so enjoy!
> 
> -Jay

Han Jisung was born to Han Kyungil and Kim Sooyoung in the bustling capital metropolis. At the age of maybe five or six he was sent to the palace. 

Or that’s what he’s told, anyway. Jisung doesn’t really know. Just like Changbin, most of his life before becoming a teenager is a blur. 

But what he does know, he keeps close to his heart. 

Jisung likes the colour red. It’s the best colour, better than blue or green or black or whatever the others like. Sure, red might be overly bright and not good for stealth but that was okay. Jisung could let that slide.

Jisung likes cheesecake. The memory of first trying a slice of that beautiful, cheesy goodness is one he remembers fondly. 

_“Here,” an older trainee says, pushing a fork towards him. “Eat. Quick.”_

_Jisung blinks. “What… is it?”_

_“Someone called it cheesecake,” is the response._

_Well, why not?_

_He takes a bite and feels his mouth explode with all sorts of flavours. “Woah.”_

_“Good, yeah,” she laughs. “Don’t tell, kay?”_

_“Yeah,” Jisung agrees blindly. It’s so sweet. And creamy. And filling, unlike the dumb oatmeal they always have to eat._

The best season is winter. That’s not even an opinion; it’s an abject fact. Winter is calm. Winter is beautiful. Winter is crystalline cold in its beauty but also fiercely powerful. Jisung used to like sitting by the fountain and watching the snow drift down steadily.

Every snowflake is unique. Different shapes, different sizes, different patterns. It’s just too bad that they melt before Jisung can really dissect them, see just what their pattern is.

But that’s just life.

Red is the best colour. The colour of roses, which are the flowers of love. Cheesecake is the best food ever, sweet and creamy and filling. Winter is the best season; it’s calm and beautiful and the snow is so lovely. Jisung knows all this.

He wonders sometimes why he holds on to these pieces of his life so tightly. Maybe because he doesn’t have much else. Jisung sees the way his friends cling on to things; how Changbin holds his duty and training, sometimes to a point where it hurts him, how Chan clings firmly to the both of them, constantly putting their safety above his. And he has the few things he knows about himself, those pieces of his identity that Jisung keeps close to his heart.

There’s one last thing that Jisung knows, something that is far more important than whatever food he likes or what his favourite season is. That’s inaccurate; it’s not a thing or an idea or opinion or whatever.

Jisung loves Chan and Changbin, so much he sometimes worries there’s something wrong with him. They’re a part of his life he’ll never let go. If he had to choose between knowing himself, all the little fragments of his personality that he holds so dear, or knowing Chan and Changbin, it would be such an easy choice. 

Chan and Changbin. No contest. Because Jisung trusts ( _knows)_ that they would help him find himself. What could cheesecake and the colour red ever do, compared to them?

They’re amazing. Chan is calm and grounded and diplomatic. Changbin is protective and dedicated and perseverant. And Jisung… he might not be the shortest but they practically dwarf him. 

He’s not beautiful. That’s just something Jisung has always known. There are people who are visually beautiful like Tzuyu, who was one year older than him and a complete badass. There are people whose skills make them beautiful like Changbin (also a complete badass). And there are people who are just beautiful without needing anything, like Chan.

But then there’s him. Han Jisung, son of Han Kyungil and Kim Sooyoung, add-on to Chan and Changbin’s assassin unit. It’s like those packs of ramen where they throw in an additional packet of spice. Doesn’t do anything but make it bigger - and make the ramen overflavoured. They already have Changbin, why would you need Jisung?

(Maybe that’s a part of why he likes winter, because the snow might be pretty but it also hides the uglier parts of the world, the decay that autumn leaves behind.) 

He’s not much of a psychologist but if Jisung really _really_ takes the time to psychoanalyze his mind and personality, maybe that’s why he hates Hwang Hyunjin, because he has the effortless composure and beauty that Jisung has never had. 

Or maybe it’s because the guy is a massive jerk. Jisung has no idea. He analyzes other people, not himself. But from the first time Hwang Hyunjin had called him ‘darling’ Jisung had known he hated the guy.

Scratch that; he knew he hated Hwang Hyunjin ever since the cocky bastard first took a step into his prison cell. And Jisung can hold a grudge better than anyone on his team. 

(Even Changbin can’t hold a grudge as long as Jisung can, which is personally something he’s proud of. You need a leader you call Chan, you need someone dead you call Changbin, and you need someone to despise a person for the rest of time? You call him!)

So going clothes shopping with someone who was basically the equivalent of a walking eyeliner pencil already made this day a bad one.

Chan gets grouped with Lee (Minho) and to his credit doesn’t glare or look irritated. Jisung’s kind of jealous of his ability to hold mute face. 

(Changbin might not, but he sure remembers the bloodroot sap incident.)

Finally, Changbin is partnered with Lee (Yongbok), which Jisung doesn’t really trust. Not one bit.

(His teammate and best friend Changbin? With Lee ‘Pretty’ Yongbok? No way.)

But he can’t exactly spirit all three of them off into the night, no matter how irritating their partners might be, so Jisung silently resigns himself to whatever fragile alliance they have. He definitely doesn’t want to be here, but Jisung loves Chan and Changbin more than he hates the Lee duo and Hwang Hyunjin so he won’t do anything.

Not unless they do something, that is.

He and Hwang don’t speak for a bit. Jisung has been to a clothing store exactly zero times, like everyone on his team, but it can’t be harder than grocery shopping. It’s just another store.

What would be best, he wonders? Black jeans or dark grey athletic pants? Denim isn’t the best fabric to move in, but black is darker than grey. 

Jisung ends up picking the dark grey pants, deciding that ease of motion is more important than the colour. He’s the best at stealth, anyway, and he tosses the pants into the cart.

“Aren’t you going to see if they fit?”

And he speaks, Jisung thinks dryly. They could have gone the entire trip without acknowledging each other and Jisung would have been perfectly fine with that but _no._

“So I’m supposed to just pull them on?”

“Just compare the width of the hip part with your hips and the length with your legs.” The unsaid _duh_ rings clearly in the air. Jisung feels kind of stupid.

(He follows Hwang’s advice anyway. It’s reasonable advice and he might be petty but Jisung isn’t dumb.)

(Usually. Most of the time. Kind of?)

(The pants do seem like they fit, though. Jisung throws them back in the cart and keeps walking.)

Chan and Lee (Minho) are next to a spinning rack of jeans. None of them appear to be talking. Jisung admires their composure. Changbin is with Yongbok. He’s not close enough to really hear what they seem to be saying, but it looks like a one-sided conversation. 

(Yongbok is, thankfully, giving Changbin his space. Jisung might be all the way across the store but if he needs to gain teleportation he will, whether through magic or just sheer willpower alone.)

“Try this,” Hwang says after a period of silence, holding out a white sweater. The sleeves and collar are lined with black. Jisung shakes his head in response, pulls it out of Hwang’s hands and sets it back. Too bright.

None of them talk for a long time. Jisung is fine with that, honestly. Chan and Lee (Minho) have moved on to looking at hanging rows of sweaters. Changbin seems vaguely uncomfortable, shoulders curled into themselves. His body language quite clearly screams _hide._

Red flag. 

“Wait,” Hwang says and Jisung bristles.

“Your buddy there is making B uncomfortable,” he snaps. 

“Your friend looks fine.”

_Too you,_ Jisung wants to snap, but then Changbin moves further away from Lee (Yongbok) and his shoulders relax slightly with the distance. Jisung exhales sharply through his teeth.

He’s on edge. Nervous. And Jisung has never known where to put his energy so he puts it into movement, walks faster, keeps looking around, tries to resist the urge to pull at the threads of his shirt.

Dark blue longsleeve shirt (the sleeves are lined with black for whatever reason but Jisung won’t complain about that). Hwang grabs a black jacket, eyes Jisung up and down for a few seconds, and throws it in the cart.

(Jisung isn’t going to trust this guy’s judgment, so he holds the jacket up to his shoulders as a test. It fits decently, but is made of leather. Absolutely not.)

He spots a red t-shirt with what looked like a cat drawn in white. Jisung considers for a moment whether or not he should get it - on one hand, it was pretty cool but on the other hand, it was also bright red and that was really visible - when Hwang opens his mouth.

“You’re not going to get that, are you?”

“What do you mean?” Jisung retorts, immediately bristling.

“It’s cheesy.”

“You’re a walking eyeliner pencil, you have _no_ room to talk about ‘cheesy’.”

And just to spite Hwang more, Jisung grabs the stupid shirt from where it was hanging and tosses it into the cart. If it doesn’t fit it doesn’t fit but right now he’s too annoyed to actually care.

They keep walking. Jisung eyes a shirt that says **The Best Cheese is Cheesecake.** Personally he agrees.

Should he get it? If the red shirt was quote unquote ‘cheesy’ then the **Best Cheese is Cheesecake** shirt was even cheesier.

(Jisung takes a moment to suppress a giggle at the pun. What can he say - he’s a sucker for cheesy humour.)

Hwang is eyeing him judgmentally and just because of that Jisung grabs the shirt, measures it against his torso, and throws it in the cart, all while holding eye contact. 

They’re only able to go a few minutes before another argument starts up.

“Cheesecake is not the best cake.”

“That’s not even what the shirt says,” Jisung says, holding it up. “It’s the best cheese. And also the best cake.”

“What on _earth_ are you talking about.”

Jisung drops the shirt back in and glares. “I’m right and you know it.”

“Ex _cuse_ you. The best cheese is mozzarella cheese and the best cake is strawberry shortcake, _obviously.”_

He says it like Jisung is stupid and it makes him bristle. Just because he has no idea what strawberry shortcake is doesn’t mean he’s _dumb._

“What kind of sad, depressing life have you led for you to not enjoy _cheesecake?_ Or are you just not able to process the beauty of cheesecake with your lack of brainpower?”

“Have you even tried sushi, you walking deformed monkey?”

Jisung doesn’t swear - Chan hates it and he likes to think he’s beyond that habit - but wow. He _totally_ would.

“You look like a cross between a toad and a goose, I hardly think you have _any_ room to talk. Who would eat sushi when stir fry exists?”

“What kind of fucking limp noodle would eat _stir fry_ over sushi?”

“Sushi is literally just rice and vegetables. Though I’m not surprised someone like _you_ would like it.”

“You just don’t know how to appreciate good taste. I bet you think onions of all things is better than seaweed.”

“Of course I do because I’m right. What, don’t tell me you don’t like onions?”

“Who on our great green earth would like _onions_ of all things?”

Jisung actually stops at that, bringing the cart to a sudden halt.

“Fucking _everyone_ you rat bastard. Not surprised that some idiot who likes sushi over the glorious food that is cheesecake would be too weak to digest onions.”

“Sushi is way better than cheesecake, what are you even _talking_ about.”

“You said onions are bad, you have no input in what good food is.”

Changbin appears in the corner of his eye and Jisung immediately heads towards him, glad to get away from the ugly beanpole fuck behind him.

(Hwang isn’t ugly, really. He’s very handsome, but denial is a powerful tool and Jisung can deny as much as he wants to thank you very much.)

“You’re here, thank the skies above. I need someone with actual taste,” Jisung says. Changbin gives him a quick onceover - he looks more worried than usual, which isn’t good. “Hey, Hwang! You’re wrong!”

“No I’m not!”

“You’re probably wrong,” Changbin says and Jisung smirks. See, he’s got Changbin on his side. Who did Hwang have? No one but his dumb self.

“Have you even tried sushi?”

“I don’t have to,” Jisung retorts because he hasn’t but whatever. “If _you_ like it I definitely won’t.”

Changbin heads towards Chan, probably not wanting to be involved in the argument they’re having. Jisung watches him go out of the corner of his eye and then tunes back in to whatever Hwang is saying.

  
  


Chan hadn’t intended to be a leader. 

Scratch that. He hadn’t intended to join his oddball crew of assassins at all. His life plan was to become a guard and to beat everyone in training. And also get rid of his accent because fourteen-year-old Chan had hated it.

(It was a bit of a pipe dream, looking back, but Chan at fourteen was a lot more optimistic than Chan at twenty-four.)

But then one day he woke up and went to go do his regular routine but was instead taken away by a pair of guards to go do a quote unquote ‘special assignment.’ 

“Don’t worry if you don’t succeed,” one guard had said. “This one’s a stubborn one. Course, if you do, it’d be great.”

“Yeah,” the other guard had agreed. “It would help a lot if you succeeded, but if you fail that’s okay.”

So no pressure.

The ‘special assignment’ was Changbin. Or as Changbin was called back then, AO0161. Just a scrawny kid, wearing a too-big shirt and a pair of worn pants, arms crossed and glaring at Chan with pure suspicion in his eyes.

Chan had taken one look at the kid who would someday be one of his best friends and immediately felt one piece of his heart drift away, forever Changbin’s to keep and treasure.

“Hello, I’m Chan. Uh, nice to meet you… ?”

He was never the best at introductions. Chan got better later, mostly because Changbin and Jisung didn’t, but that was a tale for another time.

“AO0161.”

“Oh,” Chan had said because he hadn’t really been expecting a random string of numbers. “Well, hi AO016… 1?”

“Mmhm,” Changbin had said. The wariness in his eyes doesn’t lessen. Neither does the tension in his shoulders.

Changbin was quiet. Treated Chan the same way you might treat a rabid dog - with nothing but caution. 

Chan, in his turn treated Changbin the way you would treat an injured cat; with some mix of caution and kindness.

(“Why?” Changbin whispered one night when he’d lashed out during training and Chan had ended up with a broken nose and bruises dotting his torso. “It’s not supposed to work this way. You’re supposed to leave by now. You’re supposed to hit me or something. Just give up on me already.”)

(Chan had shrugged. His nose hurt. His torso hurt as well. Moonlight filtered through the small window, silver on the stone floor. “I won’t.”)

(The room was dark but Changbin’s eyes practically glowed, brighter than the sun or stars. And that was the admittedly shaky start of their friendship.)

Changbin was Chan’s purpose. He’d had no goal other than to be the best before, nothing but spite to get him up in the mornings and self-loathing to lull him to sleep. 

(“Why do you hate your accent?” Changbin asked one day.)

(“It sounds dumb.”)

(“No it doesn’t.”)

(“Everyone says it does.”)

(Changbin just snorted, crossing his arms. “Everyone said you wouldn’t be able to ‘tame’ me but here we are.”)

(“I didn’t do anything like that,” Chan protested.)

(“Doesn’t matter. Your accent is fine. I can understand you and so can everyone else, so why does it matter?”)

Now he had Changbin. Chan had someone to care for and something to fight for and he latched onto it almost immediately. His purpose was to fight for the Monarch, yeah, but his purpose was also to protect Changbin. 

(He could have two purposes, there wasn’t anything against it. Chan was strong enough to handle it.)

And then Jisung had come in, just as scrawny as Changbin had been (and still kind of was, until he’d suddenly had a bulk spurt because Chan chose to believe Changbin hadn’t grown taller since he was maybe fifteen) and greeted them with the statement “Hi, I’m Han Jisung, nice to meet you, who are you?”

Then he’d promptly fainted from exhaustion and Changbin had caught him. Chan was there a second later, checking Jisung’s pulse. Still steady, thumping firmly against his fingers. He knew as soon as he met Jisung’s eyes he would always protect this young boy, now and forever.

Jisung easily slotted into their little duo, the sun to Changbin’s moon and Chan’s stars. And that was their little solar system, their galaxy. Jisung was fiery and bright and brought new life, Changbin was a pillar of strength and hope, and Chan watched over them both, made sure they didn’t burn out.

Chan doesn’t regret it, really. Doesn’t regret trying to give up his life. Doesn’t regret everything he’s done to try and keep them safe because as long as they were okay, he would be. 

(He regrets a lot of things, though. Regrets going alone to the mansion that fateful day. Regrets letting Changbin lay down his life for theirs; _you should have pushed harder, you protect them, they’re your responsibility._ Regrets every tear and scrape and bruise they’d had to suffer.)

(Jisung was so _young_ and full of life and Changbin had such a bright future lying up ahead. Chan will never forget Jisung’s face when he told them they had to commit suicide. Won’t ever forget how Changbin barely even flinched when he was told the news.)

(He should but somehow he can’t regret the fact that they were still alive.)

But going to the South - voluntarily choosing to leave their home behind and accept the help of people who were just weeks prior their worst enemies and also their jailers - was the hardest decision Chan had ever made.

Jisung hated it - a matter of pride.

Changbin hated it - a matter of loyalty.

Chan hated it - because they’d hated it but what other choice did he have? If they stayed, they would most certainly have been killed. 

It had come down to deciding between what was right - owning up to their mistake - and what was selfish - saving their lives.

And Chan was selfish.

He’d made a deal with the young one - I.N., he’d been called - for amnesty. Chan had been expecting the worst: torture, interrogation, imprisonment. But at least they had a chance of staying alive.

(Chan had promised himself he would always protect them. He’d never thought it would come down to this.)

(But the decision was made. I.N. agreed and they’d fled their country. Once some of the highest-ranking assassins in the North, now enemies of the Monarch.)

He was scared. Scared that they would be killed anyway, even with all Chan had done. Scared that his friends would hate him and he wouldn’t begrudge them that. 

Scared that all his efforts, all the pain Changbin had had to go through, everything they’d sacrificed for a chance at life was all going to be washed down the drain because what if it was useless? What if in the end they would just amount to nothing? 

He was expecting it, honestly. Chan was fully ready to stare death in the face a second time. The worst part was that Jisung and Changbin were too, when it was supposed to be him. He was supposed to suffer so they wouldn’t have to.

He hadn’t been expecting to go clothes shopping.

Much less go clothes shopping with the leader of South Allesia.

(Technically, there were multiple leaders, but Lee Minho was the leader of the leaders.)

(Had Chan been in a clothing store before? Of course he hadn’t and _why was there a white plastic human standing on top of that pedestal what - )_

Jisung and Hwang Hyunjin get paired off (Chan feels kind of sorry for both of them) and Changbin goes off with Lee Yongbok (poor Changbin). And that leaves him standing with Lee Minho, next to a metal cart. 

Chan takes a moment to regret his life decisions and then starts pushing the cart. There was really nothing else to do but push the cart and pray this would work out.

(Jisung already looks unhappy. Great.)

No one speaks. Chan has absolutely no idea what to say and his shopping partner (shopping enemy? shopping ally? what was Lee Minho anyway?) doesn’t really help with that. 

Lee takes the right side of the cart and silently redirects them towards a spinning rack of jeans. Chan lets him - it’s not like he has a better idea, anyway.

How did he do this? Did he just take one? Off the rack? Chan delicately lifts one pair off and immediately realizes it was far too small.

A different one, then?

He puts it back, exactly the way it was originally, and randomly takes another pair. Way too big, definitely. Chan sets it back. The next one he grabs seems to fit his legs, but is too small for his hips. 

Lee is just watching him struggle with jeans (stupid jeans) and Chan feels his ears heat up slightly. This was annoying. Still, he sets the pair back and takes a different one. Bit too short, but wide enough for his hips so Chan decides he’ll just have to sew on some extra fabric or something, folds it up and puts it in the cart. 

(Changbin looks awkward and Chan really doesn’t blame him. Jisung looks irritated. So does Hwang. They got along like a house on fire.)

Where to next, he wonders? They’re still not talking. Chan hopes his confusion doesn’t show on his face. Next to him, Lee reaches over and takes another pair of jeans identical to the ones he’d put in the cart and just throws them in.

(Chan will never admit that he does so in the future, but he quietly lifts them out and folds them and then sets them back in.)

(Look he just likes being neat okay, it wasn’t a problem.)

They move off towards a rack of sweaters. Chan eyes them with mild confusion - it’s all very bright. Orange, red, green, blue, yellow, pink, purple, white. 

He drifts over silently and quickly thumbs through the rows of sweaters, finds a black one at the back. Chan lifts it off the bar and scans it quickly. There’s no pattern, no decoration, just a pocket and a hood.

That worked. Chan sets it next to the jeans.

(The sleeves were a bit too large but Chan could just cut off the excess fabric and use it for something else - the jeans, maybe?)

Lee taps the cart and Chan turns around. He’s holding a blue sweater with something shiny woven in between the thread. Too noticeable. Chan shakes his head and Lee sets it back.

Hidden between a red hoodie with cat ears (cat ears?) and a purple turtleneck (looked cozy, but too purple and too bright) is a dark grey zip up hoodie. The inside lining is black. It looked like it fit so Chan places it on top of the black sweater and moves on.

(Jisung and his partner are arguing - Chan listens in for a quick moment, it’s something about cheesecake and sushi that he definitely won’t get involved in - and reaches for a black t-shirt hanging up high on a bar.)

(It’s too high. Lee has to help him get it. Chan only has a second to decide whether or not to thank him and settles on a brief nod.)

(He gets a nod back so that was probably fine.)

Chan puts a navy shirt into the cart. Lee drops in another black one (Chan makes sure to fold it before moving on). 

Jisung and Hwang are _still_ arguing over sushi and cheesecake. Personally, Chan would side with Hwang on that - cheesecake is a bit too heavy for his taste - but getting involved didn’t exactly seem fun.

At least Lee wasn’t arguing with him. Silence was a lot easier to deal with than whatever was going on behind them.

He nudges away a red t-shirt, frowns. The shirt behind it appeared to be a tank top, except most of it was made of sheer glittery mesh. Chan takes a moment to wonder what under the sky that could be used for and then moves on.

“You’re here, thank the skies above. I need someone with actual taste,” Jisung says in the background and Chan takes a quick look behind him. Changbin is with Jisung. He looks a little disturbed by something and that automatically raises a red flag in Chan’s mind.

Who?

Lee Yongbok, obviously. 

Chan isn’t going to do anything because Changbin doesn’t appear physically hurt and that would jeopardize their safety but he reminds himself to keep an eye out for Jisung and Changbin when they’re not with him. 

Thankfully, Changbin seems more relaxed with Jisung around. Chan turns away for a second to put grab a pair of jeans and looks up when he hears a quiet “C.”

He drops the jeans, breaking away from the cart and heading towards Changbin immediately. _Comfort him,_ every instinct screams.

“You good?”

They don’t hug. They don’t need to and a lifetime of training dissuades them from physical contact anyway but Chan knows immediately that Changbin doesn’t want to talk about it. It’s written all over his face - _distract me, comfort me, don’t ask me_ \- and Chan obliges, letting Changbin lean on him while he looks around and heads towards Jisung. Lee Minho and Lee Yongbok trail silently (not very silently, actually) after them in the background, along with a small army of guards.

Jisung spots them approaching almost immediately and heads towards them, meeting Chan and Changbin halfway. “Hwang is being _stupid,”_ he complains.

“I’m sure,” Changbin mutters. Sarcasm. Hopefully he’s feeling better. Jisung snorts and quietly leans on Chan’s other side. 

“Find anything cool?”

For some reason, Changbin seems to hesitate and Chan steps in for him.

“I found this weird sheer shirt,” he says. “It’s like mesh. Not sure what it’s for.”

“You’re not getting that, are you?” Jisung asks, scrunching his nose up slightly.

Chan shakes his head. “Probably not.” Definitely not.

“Makes sense,” Jisung says and he cracks a small smile. Good. Changbin ties up the too-long part of his shirt and (probably unconsciously) rests more of his weight against Chan’s side. He looks tense. It might be the mini surveillance team watching them.

(A fear that they all carry is the fear of being watched. Chan hates it. Jisung isn’t as uncomfortable but also hates it. Changbin seems to hate it the most.)

(Being watched is never good in their line of work. That means you’re not hidden. That means someone will show up and put a bullet through your brain. That means you better kill whoever’s watching you or you die.)

(Lesson after lesson drilled into them. Years of honing their instincts and now Chan has to suppress them because one person watching you could be handled but what did you do when everyone was watching?)


	13. Find Yourself in the Deepest Depths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with another chapter! 
> 
> These weeks have been pretty busy for me (school, man). Updates might slow a little because of that, sorry. When it's March - sorry, April - break, I will hopefully have more time to write.
> 
> The next few chapters won't have too much action in them. It'll mostly just be introspect and a lot of figuring out things. Stuff is necessary, after all. Don't worry - there will be plenty of angst and action later.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -Jay

Changbin sits in the car, stares out the window. The sight feels so similar and so strange at the same time.

(Yongbok gives him a quick glance, he notes, but before Changbin can meet his eyes he looks away. Good.)

This is odd. This is foreign. The experience of clothes shopping, of driving somewhere that wasn’t mission related. Changbin has felt every kind of fear, tasted blood and dirt and grass and metal, seen people die and was (most of the time) the cause of those deaths.

But the idea of casualness, the concept of normalcy, is something Changbin has never known.

And this isn’t normal. This isn’t his normal. His normal would be planning infiltrations and training with Jisung and sneaking across rooftops at night. This is normal, but it wasn’t  _ normal  _ and the idea is disorienting, makes his head spin.

The reality is slowly starting to sink in, as they near the mansion. 

They went to buy clothes. Changbin was sitting in a car with Lee Minho, driving back not to a hotel room or a lodge or the palace, but to the headquarters of the leaders of South Allesia.

The car stops. The Lee duo get out and Lee (Yongbok) opens the door. Sunlight rushes in and Changbin gets out silently.

He’s never going home again, he realizes. Changbin will never go home again because  _ he killed those people  _ and Chan had to save all their butts and here they are, he thinks a little hysterically, walking through the courtyard and entering the stupid mansion that had weird asymmetrical decor.

At least the South people seemed just as confused as they were. Small victories. Small victories.

Small being the keyword here, really.

They’re led to a room. Someone dumps the bags of clothing onto the floor and Changbin automatically mutters a soft “thank you.” Chan and Jisung echo his words. They get no reply. 

The door clicks shut. Changbin stares at the bags of clothing - the store logo is emblazoned on the front - and quietly picks his up. 

Grocery shopping. Think back to grocery shopping. It should work like grocery shopping. Chan touches his arm and Changbin nearly decks him, flinches when he realizes how close he was to accidentally giving Chan a black eye and takes a step back.

He’s dangerous. He could have hurt Chan.

None of them speak. Jisung rattles the bag pointedly and Changbin could cry, nearly melts into a puddle of relief. He thankfully doesn’t, just picks up the bag instead and starts pulling everything out. Underwear, socks, a couple shirts (black, navy, grey), the blue jacket, two pairs of black athletic pants (just like his old ones, yay), leggings (black and grey), a black sweater, and finally the pink sweater tumbles out.

Chan gives him a questioning look. Changbin looks at the sweater and wonders if he should throw it out the window. Decides not to; that would be a waste of money and the window was probably locked, anyway. 

Instead he sets the sweater aside - Jisung had a red t-shirt with a cat print and a shirt that said something about  **Cheese,** the sweater wasn’t even that bad - and quickly opens the packs of underwear and socks.

They’re all in one single room, with one big bed and that’s one element of familiarity. Changbin knows how this works, usually. Jackets and outside wear in the closet, everything else into the dresser. If you were really good with folding, you could make it work and Changbin had a lifetime of experience under his belt living with Chan and Jisung.

He folds his underwear all in one pile and socks next to it, puts it in the drawer to the far left. Chan’s pile is to the far right and Jisung is in the middle. That’s how they always do it, so they don’t need labels or any of the sort. Just basic memory.

Shirts next, rolled up tight and they went to the far left, next to Jisung’s roll. The red shirt peeks out from beneath a dark blue one, along with a bit of white. Probably the cat print.

(Changbin was totally judging the shirt, but Jisung liked red and they liked Jisung. He was always the exception.)

Pants/leggings went in another drawer and finally sweaters. Changbin makes sure to hide the pink one beneath the black one. It was a little embarrassing and he’d just. Rather not. Too bright. Too inappropriate. Too… what was the word?

_ Unconforming. _

Unconforming.

Chan folds the bags up, glances around for a moment, and then balls them up and throws them into the nearest trash can. Changbin sits on the bed, Jisung next to him. 

Done.

The bed is bigger than Changbin is used to, probably big enough for them to all spread out comfortably. He knows perfecty well that they’ll just end up in a giant pile with Jisung almost certainly squashed in the center by the time Changbin wakes up. 

(Was it considered considerate to give your prisoners/guests a big bed? Was that a thing? Should Changbin say thank you or something? He had absolutely no idea. This was all new ground.)

(They should have stayed in the North, a voice in the back of his mind whispers. They should have stayed in the North and just accepted their fate. What level of cowardice did they have, to betray their people and then run from what was deserved?)

(Chan isn’t a coward, Changbin retorts mentally, and proceeds to shut down that train of thought because it was  _ absolutely not helping right now.) _

What now, he wonders? Chan comes over to sit next to Jisung so they’re all lined up in a neat little row on the side of the bed. Changbin has a momentary flashback to the toy dolls he’d see lined up in toy store windows, all with a perfect smile embroidered on their faces.

Was that what they were? Dolls? He didn’t have any control here. Changbin was all too aware of the power difference between them and their… captors.

(Captors?)

Then again they hadn’t had much control in the North either. He should have been used to this by now. Changbin glances over at Jisung, who has flopped back onto the bed and is staring at the ceiling. Chan meets his eyes and gives him a small, hesitant smile. 

It takes a little effort but Changbin manages to smile back. His cheek muscles ache a little. 

Had it really been that long since he’d smiled? Changbin couldn’t remember. The past few weeks were a blur he never wanted to think about again.

Chan’s smile grows just a tiny bit wider. Something in Changbin’s chest settles comfortably into place. 

_ This is right,  _ his brain says and his heart agrees.  _ He’s smiling. We’re going to be okay. _

It’s a comforting thought. Changbin doesn’t know how true it will be, but it’s nice anyway.

And then the door creaks open and Changbin feels his smile slip away almost immediately, sees Chan’s smile dissolve into a flat line. Jisung sits up so fast Changbin barely sees him move.

The quintet file in, person by person. Lee Minho is first (to be expected, Changbin supposes), then Hwang Hyunjin (he sees Jisung’s face physically rearrange itself into a glare), then the second Lee (Changbin stares fixedly at a spot above his head), then Kim Seungmin and I.N. come in together, holding hands. Changbin’s eyes are drawn to the jewelry they’re both wearing; ribbons, I.N. with a necklace and Kim Seungmin with a bracelet.

Jewelry isn’t practical. Necklaces can be grabbed, bracelets and rings can be seen, earrings can be ripped out. To be fair, I.N.’s necklace doesn’t dangle like most do.

Kim Seungmin’s bracelet is bright forest green, though. Easily visible. And the charm (wood?) doesn’t help either.

Changbin watches silently as Lee Minho pulls up a chair and sits down. None of them move. Kim Seungmin goes to stand behind Lee, followed by I.N.

“Tell me what happened,” Lee Minho says. “How did you escape?”

Chan looks over at Jisung, who looks over at Changbin. 

Is he seriously going to tell this story?

_ Don’t make me do it,  _ he pleads silently, staring at Chan.  _ I don’t remember a thing. You know I don’t remember those moments. _

_ Don’t make me do it. _

_ Don’t make me do it. _

Chan speaks up, breaking the silence and Changbin, for the second time that day, feels like he could collapse in relief.

“Changbin killed the guards,” he says simply, “and we got out. Then he killed the guards guarding your friend - ” I.N. nods - “and we drove to the cemetery.”

Quick and simple. No details needed. They didn’t need to know.

By the look on everyone’s faces, they did in fact need to know. 

“Why did you kill the guards?” Lee Yongbok pipes up and they’re all looking at Changbin now, five pairs of eyes boring into his own. Chan shifts slightly, to shield him from view and Jisung bumps Changbin’s hand with his own, a small form of comfort.

He doesn’t want to answer. No way because admitting it made it real, that he was a traitor, a monster.

Chan comes to his rescue again.

“He went down,” Chan says and the tone of his voice is clipped, allowing no questions. “A guard accidentally told him to kill them and Changbin killed them.”

I.N.’s eyes widen, probably in realization. Changbin feels himself shrivel up and die inside.

“Went down?” Hwang asks. “You mean subspace, right?”

“No,” Changbin manages to say. His throat is dry. It hurts. He hurts. 

“But - ” Lee starts.

“They’re different,” Jisung says. “He went down and killed the guards. That’s why.”

The atmosphere has changed. The air practically crackles with hostility. Chan actually slides off the bed and Changbin can’t see his face but he radiates tension.

“Please leave. We’re not comfortable with this line of questioning.”

_ Please leave,  _ Changbin agrees silently as his throat closes up. He wishes this was a dream but wishes are intangible and wouldn’t come true anyway.

He doesn’t get his wish.

“Are you,” Lee Minho says, standing up, “going to pose a threat to our country or us?”

Changbin is going to have another meltdown in the span of two days and he’ll only come out worse. This is going just  _ great. _

(His chest hurts. He’s not even injured. Why does it hurt?)

(He doesn’t want it to hurt.)

“No,” Chan is saying. It sounds muted. “If you don’t say anything like they did.”

Lee nods. 

“One last question,” and Changbin can feel it in his core that this won’t be good, “how does the s - the thing get triggered?”

Jisung tenses, squeezing Changbin’s hand tightly. He lets him. The pain dissolves some of the fog in his mind. 

“I’m afraid,” Chan says and his voice is made of pure ice, sends a shiver through the whole room, “that I cannot disclose that information.”

Hwang opens his mouth and Jisung beats him to it, snapping out, “It’s private.”

“Calm down,” Lee Yongbok says, standing up. “We just want to make sure we won’t accidentally trigger it.”

“If you do, I’ll handle it,” Chan says frostily. “None of you are trained for this anyway.”

Lee Minho stands up then and Chan stares him down without flinching. Changbin can’t help but admire his lack of fear.

“How do we trust you to not misuse it?”

That’s a loaded question. Changbin bites back a sharp word - Chan has more control than  _ that  _ and he always keeps his promises - and focuses solely on the conversation, tries not to let himself drown.

“I haven’t yet,” Chan says. “There’s no point in doing that anyway. We… it’s not like we can go home.”

_ Ever. _

No one says it but Changbin hears it loud and clear and his heart drops. Everything that had happened this day made it feel so much more real. They would never go home again because they were traitors and that was just one of many truths he would have to accept.

He sees Kim nod quietly, sees I.N. give them a look that seemed like sympathy. Changbin hates it. It was their fault. Sympathy wasn’t something he wanted.

“Alright,” Lee says after a weighted moment of silence. “We will trust you for now.”

Chan nods curtly, a clear dismissal. Lee Minho nods back and heads towards the door. Everyone else falls in line.

I.N. remains behind for a moment, looks at them. Changbin doesn’t meet his eyes and stares at the doorframe.

“Je - I.N. ?” Kim Seungmin asks.

“Coming, Min,” I.N. says and he leaves, door closing behind him.

No one speaks for a good minute or two. Chan silently sits back down, lacing his fingers together.

“I killed them,” Changbin whispers finally. There’s no emotion in it. He feels hollow. “I killed them and now - ”

Jisung’s eyes are shiny with fresh tears. Chan remains blank but Changbin has known him long enough to see his grief. 

“Now we’re never going home,” he finishes. The words hang heavy between them. 

Changbin doesn’t want to accept it. 

But he’s never been that type of person to deny reality. They’d made their metaphorical bed and now they had to lie in it.

“I’m sorry,” Changbin breathes and Jisung starts to cry. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Chan murmurs thickly. “You can’t control - ” 

Jisung cuts them both off with a quiet sniffle and immediately Chan and Changbin shut up. Chan grasps Jisung’s hand, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles in quiet comfort. Changbin fidgets awkwardly for a moment, not knowing what to do when Jisung reaches out with his right arm and physically pulls Changbin into a tight hug.

They all collapse back in a pile after that. Jisung ends up between Chan and Changbin, face buried into Chan’s chest. His shoulders are shaking. He’s visibly crying.

(There’s very little sound. Neither Chan nor Jisung nor Changbin like making noise when crying. Chan is the best at keeping silent, though both Jisung and Changbin come in close second.)

Changbin doesn’t know how to comfort people. It’s not a part of his job -  _ former  _ job - description.

But he tries anyway, carefully pulling Chan and Jisung closer so he’s sort-of holding them both. Changbin might be the shortest out of all of them but his friends looked so small in that moment.

_ Alright, Changbin,  _ he tells himself.  _ You hate it. But it’s time to just accept the truth. _

They were never -  _ ever  _ \- going home again.

  
  


“They didn’t tell us everything,” Jeongin says as they’re walking through the hallway. He hadn’t said everything, either, if he was being honest.

“Yeah,” Seungmin agrees. “But… ”

He’s biting his lip. Jeongin lightly brushes a thumb over Seungmin’s wrist. There’s a patch of rough skin there, remnants of a burn from long ago.

_ You good?  _ the touch asks. 

Seungmin gently taps Jeongin’s index finger with his own.  _ Yeah,  _ the touch says.  _ I’m good.  _ Then, a moment later, three taps.  _ I love you. _

It’s their own little way of communication. Jeongin feels a smile creep up unbidden as he taps back; three times, always three times.  _ I love you. _

Because Seungmin always, as he’d explained, had trouble saying things like  _ I love you. I’m unhappy. I’m angry. I’m afraid.  _ Not out loud, at least. 

They’d had some rough patches in their relationship because of that, with Jeongin frustrated since Seungmin was never able to talk about how he was feeling and Seungmin frustrated at the exact same thing. Thankfully, Felix and Hyunjin had straightened them both out.

(“I don’t get it,” Jeongin had said, rubbing his forehead. “He never tells me anything! It’s not good.”)

(Felix nodded. “I know, Innie.”)

(“Does he not trust me or what?” Jeongin continued, slumping lower against the wall. “Am I a bad person for just - expecting him to tell me things? Maybe I should stop, this is stupid - ”)

(“No it’s not,” Felix said firmly. “Innie. You two need to communicate and that means talking about stuff. It’s not your fault and you’re not a bad person. Seungmin trusts you with his life, he just doesn’t know how to say it out loud.”)

(“I know!” Jeongin snapped and then sighed. “Sorry, sorry. I’m just frustrated.”)

(“You’re allowed to be frustrated,” Felix said. “Tell you what. Maybe instead of talking, you could use like nonverbal signals. Body language. Seungmin might be more comfortable with that.”)

(They - Seungmin and Jeongin - were both a little skeptical at that, but it worked. Admittedly, it was a little different from what Jeongin had thought was normal, but as long as Seungmin was comfortable he would manage with it.)

“What are you thinking about?” Seungmin asks, snapping Jeongin out of his thoughts.

“Nothing,” he says. “Felix basically saved our relationship.”

Seungmin laughs quietly. It makes Jeongin’s heart swoop, flutter in his chest like a baby bird. “Yeah, kind of.”

Felix tosses them both a teasing grin over his shoulder. “You’re both welcome.”

Jeongin can’t help but laugh. Seungmin scoffs but Jeongin can tell he’s smiling. 

“Thank you,” he says, nudging Seungmin lightly in the side.

“Thank you,” Seungmin echoes. “For - what was it? Basically saving our relationship.”

“No problem,” Felix says easily. “You two are adorable together, not gonna lie. I’m pretty sure Hyunjin squealed when Innie came down with a necklace.”

Jeongin feels his cheeks heat up. Seungmin looks stoic but the tips of his ears are scarlet.

Hyunjin  _ had  _ squealed. Felix did, too. Minho had given them a wide grin and said something about how it was “About time, you dolts.”

Their friends were idiots.

Felix and Hyunjin are giving them evil-looking grins and Jeongin kind of panics inside. 

“DnD!” he says and immediately slaps himself (mentally, of course). “I mean. I might go play? With them?”

“Oh, really?” Hyunjin asks.

He actually wasn’t planning on doing that - the thought hadn’t occurred at  _ all _ , really - but Jeongin had dug himself this hole and now he’d have to sit in it.

“Yeah,” he says. Seungmin gives him a funny look but doesn’t expose him and Jeongin breathes a silent sigh of relief.

“Do you mind if I tag along?” Felix asks unexpectedly. Jeongin blinks, surprised.

“Yeah, why not?”

After all, what harm could it do?

  
  


The trio appear to be sleeping when Jeongin opens the door, curled up in a pile in the middle of the bed. 

Then one sits up and immediately the other two sit up as well, like a weird Jack-in-the-Box. None of them look tired. One has visible tear tracks.

Maybe he should… leave?

But then Felix walks in and shuts the door, completely unaware of Jeongin’s conundrum, and waves and it just makes the atmosphere even  _ more  _ awkward.

“Hi,” Jeongin says because he’s great at introductions. “Uh, do you want to play?”

The trio share a look that says so much and nothing at the same time. Nothing, Jeongin supposes, bonds people like murder.

“Sure,” the one in the middle says finally. His voice is very monotone. Who was it again… Han Jisung?

Probably.

“Great,” Jeongin says. He steps towards the bed, unsure of where else to go, and after a brief staredown the three move back, arranging themselves into a semi-circle. 

(Wow that synchronization. All at the same time. They could probably become a dance troupe if they wanted to.)

He sits cross-legged on the bed, lays out the board. Felix sits slightly behind him, a comforting presence.

“So,” Jeongin says, setting down each player’s avatar. “You just… what was it? Snuck onto a pirate ship?”

“I did,” BO0161/Jisung says. The other two (Chan and Changbin? Yeah, that was it) give Jisung matching stink-eyes.

“So, A, C,” Jeongin says. “What do you want to do?”

“Get on the ship,” Chan says.

“I’ll wait,” Changbin says.

“Alright, roll to get on the ship… 13. Not bad, so you’ve made it on. What now?”

“Look for him,” Chan says.

“A?”

“Do we have explosives or something?”

“... no?”

“Do we have any gas or petrol?”

“Yes?”

“Any bottles?”

Jeongin has an idea of where this is going. “Mmhm.”

“Any candles?”

“Well, yes.”

“Great. Can I make a Mallow Cocktail?”

“You mean a Molotov Cocktail?” Jeongin and Felix ask in unison. 

“Mallow Cocktail.”

“No, Molotov Cocktail.”

The terror trio share a look. “Mallow Cocktail.”

“Wait,” Felix says, “you are talking about the bottle thing that you throw, right?”

“Yes,” Jisung insists. “Mallow Cocktail.”

“No, it’s a  _ Molotov  _ Cocktail - ”

“Felix,” Jeongin interrupts, “just let it be.”

This is one of those culture differences between North and South, Jeongin knows. Seungmin did the same thing - still does, really. 

“Okay so you want to make a Mol - Mallow Cocktail.”

“Yes.”

“Roll to make one and… 16, nice. So you have a, uh, Mallow Cocktail. Alright, B?”

“Can I steal something?”

“J, do  _ not  _ steal something from the pirate ship.”

“Roll to steal something,” Jeongin says cheerfully, ignoring the argument, “20! Alright, you steal several pearl necklaces and a blue amulet.”

“Sweet,” Jisung says.

“What next? C?”

“Drag him off,” Chan says. “Without getting noticed.”

“You get a 6, so tough luck. Both you and B get noticed. B?”

“Fight!”

“And you get a 7,” Jeongin says. “Yeowch. You don’t manage to fight him off and get injured. A?”

“Light and throw the Mallow Cocktail.”

“With a candle?”

“With my taser.”

“You can  _ what?”  _ Jeongin asks, momentarily breaking character. Changbin gives him a mildly skeptical look.

“Yes.”  _ Obviously,  _ he doesn’t say. Jeongin hears it anyway.

Was that from experience or was he taught that? Jeongin has no idea. He’s not sure he wants to know.

“Alright. You, uh, light your thing with a taser and throw it. 15 so the ship is now on fire. C, B?”

“Get out,” C says immediately.

“While they’re distracted,” B adds.

“A?”

“Wait and be ready.”

“Alright. B, C, you guys roll a 12 so you both get out.”

“Sweet.”

Chan says nothing but Jeongin can practically feel the sigh. He suppresses a grin.

“Okay, so the pirate ship is on fire. Are you going to let them drown?”

All three share another look and then Chan shrugs.

“Sure.”

“I’ll make another Mallow Cocktail,” Changbin says.

“Can I sell what I stole?” Jisung asks. 

“Yeah, if you go to the market. Are you going to?”

“No,” is the response he gets. “I’ll wait and help A.”

“Alright then,” Jeongin says. “C, are you doing anything?”

“Keeping watch.”

“Okay. So, the pirates are putting out the fires. A has - ” Jeongin rolls quickly, it comes up as a 7 - “failed to make a Mol - Mallow Cocktail and B has - ” he rolls again, gets a 19 - “made a Mallow Cocktail.”

“I throw it.”

“I try to make another one.”

“Alright. Roll to throw… 14, not bad. Okay, so you hit the ship and set more fires. A, you rolled a 10, not the best but you kind of have one.”

“Is it functional?” Changbin asks.

“Yep. Do you want to throw it?”

“Yeah.”

Jeongin rolls the die, gets a 17. “Okay, so you throw the cocktail and hit the ship, setting even more fires. You’ve successfully drowned a pirate ship.”

Changbin, Chan, and Jisung share a look that doesn’t say much but appears to be sort of satisfied. Probably. They have very neutral facial expressions, even during a game.

(It’s kind of impressive. Jeongin finds himself growing sort of curious; who were these people really?)

“Do you want to go sell your loot now?”

“Yep,” Jisung says.

“Alright. A, C?”

“Just - ” Jisung gives Changbin a glance and Changbin sighs. “Let him do it.”

“Let him do it,” C echoes, sounding vaguely done. 

Jeongin rolls the die and it lands on a 1.

“Tough luck. The merchant is convinced it’s fake.”

“Can I convince him they’re real?”

“Alright…”

That time, Jeongin rolls a 13. “Well, good job! The merchant buys your stuff and gives you uh, $2743. He doesn’t buy the amulet, though.”

Changbin and Chan frown in unison. 

“Why?”

Jeongin grins. “Reasons.”

“That we don’t get to know because they are important to the story?”

Wow, that was sharp.

“Basically, yeah.”

All three give Jeongin a mildly skeptical look. Their synchrony kind of amazes him. Felix shifts behind him and Jeongin watches as Changbin’s (and Jisung’s) gaze skitters over to Felix for a brief second before slipping away.

Odd.

He needs to start asking questions, Jeongin knows. There were so many things that weren’t being said but Jeongin can tell the three are scared of talking about it. 

Seungmin was too and at some point they’d have to get answers but Jeongin is fine with letting them all be comfortable for a bit, settle down, get used to their new living situation. Jisung, Chan, and Changbin don’t look unhappy but there’s a new tiredness that weighs on their shoulders, something that speaks of loss.

Which he really doesn’t get because if whatever they were going through made them want to commit suicide in an extremely painful way, that couldn’t have been good. He’ll never be able to say he can truly understand, but Jeongin knows Seungmin and Seungmin knows the North in ways Jeongin never will.

So he’ll let them be. He can give them that small kindness after they saved his life (they did try to kill him, but Jeongin is a naturally forgiving person). And Jeongin prays that whatever they find won’t be as horrible as he suspects it may be.


	14. Blood Of the Covenant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so this update is a little late but I'm dumb and accidentally wrote an extra chapter before realizing oh yeah, I should have already updated. To that I say: 🤡
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -Jay

There is a training room.

Changbin is glad for that, at least. He can keep his skills sharp. Chan shadows him silently, with Jisung leading the way.

It’s been a few days since they’ve done anything useful and Changbin rolls his shoulders, slides into a lunge. The burn in his thighs is satisfying.

(The leggings are a bit too long. Chan had cut off the excess fabric for him.)

(Chan was the best at sewing and modifying clothing. Jisung didn’t like it. Changbin learned it, just because it was an excuse to stab something a lot.)

(Needles were hard to come by, though.)

A few guards, who are apparently their personal entourage (or not, Changbin supposes), watch them silently from the doorway. Changbin ignores their burning stares. It’s not like he hasn’t been watched before. He’s had a lifetime to get used to this.

Jisung is more outwardly uncomfortable. Changbin instinctively moves to shield him a little, along with Chan. Being watched is something they all hate.

Exercises first, just as a warmup. They always turn this into a competition, just for fun. Changbin usually wins and he’s honestly kind of proud of that.

This time, though, they’re interrupted before Changbin can finish his full set of situps. Footsteps sound and then the door creaks open. Chan shifts in front of both Changbin and Jisung, standing.

It’s Kim Seungmin, holding a laptop and looking at them with a perfectly neutral face. Too composed to be natural. Changbin instinctively feels his hackles rise.

Lee Minho might be the leader but Kim Seungmin just has an air of knowing about him. He wants something, Changbin realizes as he steps closer.

“Can I help you?” Chan asks, voice showing no sign of the tension he must be feeling. 

“Yes, actually,” Kim says. “You. Seo Changbin.”

Not good.

Jisung’s hand touches his waist briefly, a silent reassurance. Changbin appreciates the momentary second of contact. 

“What.”

It comes out more angry-sounding than he’d intended. Changbin suppresses a wince. Even showing anger to interrogators could be dangerous. Anger was a sign you were breaking.

“Your DnD character name,” Kim says. “What is it.”

Changbin feels his spine stiffen. He hadn’t thought when he’d made the name.

Now he regrets it.

“What are you going to use that for?” Jisung snaps, stepping forwards. Chan’s eyes narrow slightly. Kim ignores them, looks Changbin straight in the eye.

“I won’t use it to blackmail you,” he says. “Or to cause harm.”

“How do we trust that?” Chan asks, face rearranging into a slight glare. Kim doesn’t flinch; instead he gestures for them to sit down. Changbin glances at Chan, who nods.

They sit down in a straight line, legs crossed, hands clasped. No fidgeting. Kim, oddly enough, mirrors their position perfectly, save for the laptop.

“You think we’re going to hurt you,” he says bluntly. “You think we’ll try and blackmail you, torture you, interrogate you for information, throw you in a dungeon.”

Startlingly accurate. Changbin sees Jisung tense next to him, knuckles whitening just the slightest bit.

“Your point?” Chan asks, raising a single brow.

“Trust me when I say we won’t,” Kim says. “If we did really want to, we wouldn’t have taken you three in. And if the others were truly like that, I wouldn’t be sitting here today.”

Changbin has to take a moment to try and connect the dots, but when it hits it  _ hits. _

No way.

Jisung and Chan seem to have the same realization at the exact same time as Changbin does.

“You’re - ”

“I’m from the North,” Kim Seungmin says and suddenly the posture makes a lot more sense. “But I was forced to flee. The others took me in and helped me get better. I owe them my life.”

And everything about those sentences was massively confusing. Forced to flee? Get better?

Jisung asks the questions that Changbin doesn’t know how to. “What do you mean,  _ get better?” _

“Get better mentally,” Kim Seungmin says. “I was completely messed up. I’m not not-messed-up quite yet, but I’m getting there.”

“How did you  _ get  _ ‘messed up’?” Changbin asks, curious despite himself. What had  _ happened? _

“You know, self-esteem issues, panic attacks, the like,” Kim Seungmin says casually, like it was no big deal. “I wasn’t an assassin, if that’s what you’re wondering. I was an orphan kid who was too curious for his own good and witnessed a murder.”

“Who?” Chan asks.

“I don’t even know,” Kim Seungmin says and his face twists into a slight grimace. And then it smoothes out. “Some poor guy. But I had to run anyway.”

They all fall into silence. Changbin tries to twist his mind around this new information. Kim Seungmin was a Northerner, but he was allied with the South. 

_ Traitor,  _ a voice whispers.  _ Traitor. _

_ Just like me, you hypocrite. I don’t have any room to complain.  _

“How?” Jisung asks and it comes out as a whisper of sorts. “Why? Why would you do that? You could have just left. Ignored it.”

Changbin can’t help but agree. His entire job was murder, he didn’t really have any room to be squeamish. If you saw a person dying, it was probably best to just finish the job. 

“They saw me,” Kim says with a shrug. “One grabbed me and I panicked.”

He doesn’t say what he did, just flicks a glance towards his hands. Changbin can’t help but snort a little. His own hands were probably (almost certainly) completely doused in blood at this point. Whatever Kim had done, Changbin had almost certainly done worse.

Especially after  _ the  _ incident.

Chan asks the question for him, raising a silent brow. 

“Ripped his throat out,” Kim says and his voice has gone perfectly monotone, absolutely no hint of emotion whatsoever. It’s a familiar sight, like looking in a blurry mirror.

Jisung stills. Changbin feels his shoulders stiffen.

He’s definitely done worse. So have Chan and Jisung. Their hands are clean but Changbin has broken bones, bruised and scratched and killed with his hands. He knows the feeling of ripping skin, the crack of breaking bones, far more intimately than he’d like to think about.

The worst thing is that Changbin can’t feel any horror, can’t feel what he should be feeling. He’s got no mental energy to process it.

(And at this point, he’s probably completely desensitized to any of it. Changbin could break someone’s legs and leave them screaming in pain without feeling anything. The ability to feel regret was long removed.)

“I don’t like to think about it,” Kim continues. “He was going to kill me, so I killed him.” A brief pause, and then, “What do you think?”

“You shouldn’t have done it,” Jisung says.

“Yeah,” Changbin says. The word leaves a bitter taste behind. “It’s betrayal.”

“Wouldn’t it be betrayal for him to kill me?”

Chan doesn’t answer. Neither does Changbin. Or Jisung. The question makes them all pause.

He’d never learned this. Never thought about it, either. Changbin had never had a reason to think about it. 

“Wouldn’t it have been betrayal for them to kill you, too?” Kim asks and it makes Changbin’s head hurt. A thousand replies rise up in his throat;  _ we were failures, it wouldn’t have mattered, they had their orders.  _

None come out.

“It wouldn’t have been them to kill us,” Chan says and his voice comes out surprisingly steady. Kim raises a brow in a silent question.

“It would have been me,” Changbin says. “They ordered me. To kill one of them - ” he points to Chan - “and spare the other.”

Kim says nothing but Changbin can see the gears turning in his head. “So you killed the guards to get out.”

Yes.

“Yes.”

He feels nothing saying it. Changbin remembers nothing but if he concentrates really hard he can make out screaming. Panicked yelling. A gunshot - probably him.

“Why do you think that was bad?” Kim Seungmin asks and Changbin. Stiffens.

“It’s betrayal,” he says tersely. “To kill them. They were our allies.”

“So were your friends. Besides, didn’t you go down?”

Yes he’d went down but that didn’t matter because he’d still  _ betrayed his country,  _ the cause didn’t excuse the effect. 

And as if predicting his thoughts (how did he  _ do  _ that), Kim Seungmin says exactly what Changbin was thinking.

“It’s still betrayal, I know. The reason why doesn’t excuse the fact that you killed them.”

Every single one of them give Kim Seungmin a surprised look. 

“I was North, remember?” Kim says and he smiles a tiny bit. It makes his face just a tiny bit warmer. “I felt the exact same way. I still do sometimes.”

Changbin watches, nearly frozen in place as Kim reverts back to his cool demeanor. “So. Your DnD name?”

Should he?

Chan meets Changbin’s gaze and gives him a small, if hesitant nod.  _ You can,  _ it seemed to say.  _ It’ll be okay. _

He’s had to tell himself that so many times. Changbin wonders when a phrase becomes meaningless. What if it wouldn’t?

But he didn’t build his career through uncertainty so Changbin makes his choice.

“AO0161,” he says. The string of letters and numbers feels bitter. It’s a label he’ll never completely get rid of, a reminder of distant times he’ll never remember.

Kim Seungmin nods, not showing any surprise, and types something down. “Thank you. That’s all.”

That was it?

Changbin watches as Kim stands up and turns to head out. He pauses at the doorway.

“Think about what I said,” he says. And then he leaves, the door swinging closed.

No one speaks for a good two minutes. 

“Do you want to continue?” Jisung asks finally, voice hesitant. Changbin has rarely heard Jisung be hesitant.

“Yeah,” Chan says quietly. “Bin?”

And Changbin doesn’t think he can speak, not now. Any words he tries to say disintegrate, falling apart in his throat and he swallows them back down.

He just nods and thankfully neither Chan or Jisung ask him to speak. Changbin completes his set and then moves on towards combat practice.

  
  


“What’d you get?” Hyunjin asks, joining Seungmin as he walks down the hallway.

“A clue,” Seungmin replies, purposefully avoiding the specifics. He has the sneaking suspicion that none of the terror trio would enjoy Seungmin talking about it.

Though, seriously? DnD name? Now three people knew it.

To be fair, neither Felix or Jeongin knew the implications of something like that. Seungmin didn’t either, but he’s going to find out some time.

“What clue?”

“Something that might help,” Seungmin says. It’s an attempt at a joke. Probably a rather feeble one, but Hyunjin laughs a little anyway.

“You don’t want to tell me, huh.”

“No.”

“Ok.”

Hyunjin is, Seungmin thinks, interesting. He’s a lot kinder than he seems. Maybe the height is too intimidating, Seungmin doesn’t know. But Hyunjin is one of the softest people he’s ever met, even more so than Felix.

It triggers most of his protective instincts, with Jeongin of course triggering all of them. Seungmin has the feeling in another world he would have fallen in love with Hyunjin. He has a feeling most of them could have fallen in love with Hyunjin.

But Seungmin had fallen irrevocably in love with Jeongin and through some miracle (probably also Jeongin) his feelings were reciprocated. Felix and Hyunjin had a brief thing that lasted for maybe two weeks before they decided it just didn’t work. Minho had this skepticism about romantic love that Seungmin honestly kind of understood.

(He’d felt that way once but about all types of love. Seungmin still didn’t know what to think about love, but maybe being brave enough to try to love people was enough.)

“What’re you thinking about, Minnie?”

Seungmin yanks himself back into reality. Oh; right. They were walking through a hallway together and usually you didn’t walk silently through hallways.

( _ You don’t have to always talk, Minnie,  _ Jeongin’s voice says.  _ It’s okay to not want to. Right of speech goes along with right of silence.) _

(Does he want to? Seungmin does a quick self-analysis, decides that yes he is okay with speaking, and opens his mouth to reply.)

“The love thing,” he says honestly. “How it works.”

Hyunjin smiles widely, tucking a strand of hair back. “Awww. Innie?”

You knew it.

“Yep.”

Seungmin ignores the way Hyunjin actually coos, dodging an attempt at squishing his cheeks. That was Jeongin privilege. 

“You two deserve each other,” Hyunjin says and where another person might have been mean, Hyunjin is completely genuine. Seungmin envies him for that. Coming from somewhere where being genuine was considered a flaw, it was still something he was trying to fix. “Innie looks so much happier now. And you look a lot… not happier, but brighter.”

He feels it, too.

“That’s what love does, I guess,” Seungmin says. “Makes you happy.”

“Yeah,” Hyunjin sighs and he looks wistful. “Do you think I’ll find love?”

“You will,” Seungmin says. “You’re a very loveable person.”

Hyunjin laughs as they round a bend. “Don’t flatter me, Minnie.”

And Seungmin wasn’t trying to flatter him, he was actually being genuine and he might not be the paragon of comfort like Jeongin or Felix but he was going to at least try so he says, “I’m serious. You’re very soft. And kind. And truthful. And someone’s going to fall in love with you.”

Honestly, Seungmin isn’t very sure how good his attempt was but Hyunjin smiles a little. It’s kind of sad and also kind of happy. “I hope you’re right, Min.”

It’s on that note that they separate. Seungmin heads into his office and Hyunjin keeps walking, waving goodbye before the door shuts.

There is, Seungmin thinks as he sets the laptop down and puts on his headphones (a gift from Felix), something very wrong with the Monarch. 

Because even though he doesn’t know the trio very well (or at all), Seungmin can just  _ feel  _ their bond. It’s there in the silences, their tiny almost imperceptible moments of contact, the shared glances that speak more than words ever could.

What kind of monster would do that to someone? What kind of cruel creature could break something so powerful?

The Monarch truly is of another breed. Seungmin feels his lips contort into a grimace and doesn’t automatically smooth it out.

He’s not going to focus on that, though. Seungmin stores the piece of information into his small but steadily growing file on Bang Chan, Seo Changbin, and Han Jisung, and then sets it back into its appropriate drawer. 

Seo Changbin, or AO0161. Seungmin had a weird suspicion that was related to something. He pulls up another window and gets to work.

  
  


Minho pops in at some point. Seungmin feels the haze of work slowly dissipate from his mind as he (reluctantly) pulls off his headphones.

He was really getting into it but okay, just interrupt him.

“You good?” Minho asks and blinks at the interface. “What’re you sneaking into?”

“Trying to find a specific file,” Seungmin says, forcing the irritation out of his voice. It’s not fair to Minho.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Minho says, probably sensing how Seungmin is feeling anyway. “Don’t forget you need food and or water as well.”

“I will keep it in mind,” Seungmin says distractedly as he puts his headphones back on. The world dissolves into a mess of code and the door shuts.

  
  


Jeongin peeks in just as Seungmin is exiting the server, wiping away his traces. 

“Hey, Minnie.”

“Hey, Innie.”

The file has successfully been copied and downloaded to Seungmin’s computer. He opens it up, finds the documents, presses  **print** and chooses their printer.

“You want something to eat or drink?” Jeongin asks, perching next to him. Seungmin takes off his headphones, shakes out his hair. Rubs his eyes. Smiles, despite himself.

“Give me a moment, Innie,” he says. “I just want to print the last thing and go over it.”

“I’ll go with you to get it,” Jeongin says firmly, reaching for Seungmin’s hand. He takes it and stands up, closing the last few windows quickly and powering off his computer. “And then we can get something to eat and look over it together, if that’s okay?”

Jeongin was, Seungmin thinks, a common sense filter. It was incredible.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Let’s go?”

“Let’s.”

The walk to the printer room is calm, without a word exchanged. Seungmin allows himself to just bask in the silence. Silence is underrated, really.

“What were you looking for?” Jeongin finally asks and his fingers find Seungmin’s, lace together comfortably. There is a certain intimacy that comes with holding hands. He could trace the lines of Jeongin’s palm by heart.

“A document,” he says. “I have a weird hunch. I’m not sure if it’ll lead me anywhere, but…” 

Jeongin reaches up and presses a small kiss to the arch of Seungmin’s cheekbone. It’s such a ridiculously sweet gesture and he feels his ears heat up a little. A smile twitches at the corner of his lips and Seungmin isn’t able to control the way it spread over his face.

“It doesn’t have to,” Jeongin reassures. “You’re not limited to perfection.”

He knows. Seungmin says so and Jeongin laughs, a bright tinkling thing that Seungmin wants to preserve in glass and hang on the wall because it’s so much more beautiful than any painting could ever be.

“I know you know, Minnie,” Jeongin hums and pushes open the printer room door. “And I’m glad that you do.”

Sometimes it strikes Seungmin how genuine Jeongin is, how truly lucky he should feel. Seungmin hesitates for a split second, worries whether or not it was appropriate, then banishes the fear because they are literally boyfriends, why would it matter, and he quickly leans down to brush his lips over Jeongin’s cheek.

Just for a moment, a second. It feels like eternity and sends butterflies erupting in his stomach.

But Jeongin beams up at him anyway, eyes crinkling cutely, and tugs him towards the printer, where their pages are lying in the bin beneath. Seungmin picks them up, rearranges them so it’s in the right order.

“Food first,” Jeongin says firmly. “And water, Minnie, no inspecting those until you actually eat okay?”

“Okay,” Seungmin says and can’t help but laugh a little. “What do you want to eat?”

“Noodles.”

“Sounds good.”

Felix is the best cook out of all of them but Seungmin isn’t bad at cooking, either. Jeongin likes to eat basically all food except for beans so Seungmin’s got a lot of options from all three noodle soups he knows how to make.

“You don’t have to cook,” Jeongin says but Seungmin shakes his head, sets the papers down (blank side up) on the counter.

“I like it.”

He pulls out all his ingredients; chicken stock, zucchini, carrots, onions, garlic, udon noodles. Seungmin pours water in the pot then the stock, puts it on the stove and starts cutting the vegetables while he waits for it to boil. 

Cooking was something he learnt because he kind of had to. You didn’t survive on your own without figuring it out at some point. Still, it was a good skill to have and Seungmin liked the orderliness of it. 

The soup is boiling by now. Seungmin gathers up the vegetables and puts them in the pot, rips open the package of noodles and follows the instructions on the packaging. He grabs a wooden spoon from the hook and starts stirring.

It only takes around five minutes for the soup to be finished. Seungmin turns down the heat, sprinkles on some sesame seeds, grabs some black pepper and stirs a bit in for Jeongin. He lifts the pot and carries it to the table.

“Good?” he asks while they’re eating. Jeongin nods, swallows, and beams widely.

“Super good. Thanks, Minnie.”

  
“You’re welcome.”

Yeah, cooking was worth it.

They eat in relative silence. Seungmin adds a little more black pepper, and then a little more because spicy always equals good.

(It’s just factual and the only thing the Monarch got right in his dastardly little mind.)

“May I look at the papers now?”

“You may,” Jeongin says haughtily, ladling Seungmin another bowl of soup and then himself. “Eat a bit more first, though?”

Seungmin eats a bit more first.

He flips over the little packet of papers, smoothes out the wrinkles on instinct. 

  1. **AO016T**



**LOG 1**

**12:3:0.6**

**Subjects: Seo Chang bin (AO0161), Lee Chae Yeon (AO0242), Bang Ye dam (AO0453), Im Jae Bum (AO0678), Jung Woo Young (AO0512), Kim Da Hyun (AO0732), Minatozaki Sana (AO0328)**

**Two out of seven subjects passed the first test (AO0678 and AO0732). AO0161, AO0242, AO0453 started and then snapped out. AO0512 and AO0328 did nothing.**

**All subjects snapped out at the second test.**

**Slight disorientation, confusion, and memory loss noted. No impair of mental or physical functions.**

**Formula 1 unsuccessful. Too much disobedience. Too little time under. Add SNRI.**

  
  


**Log 2**

**14:2:9**

**Subjects: Seo Chang bin (AO0161), Lee Chae Yeon (AO0242), Bang Ye dam (AO0453), Im Jae Bum (AO0678), Jung Woo Young (AO0512), Kim Da Hyun (AO0732), Minatozaki Sana (AO0328)**

**Five out of seven subjects passed the first test (AO0161, AO0453, AO0678, AO0512, AO0328). AO0242 and AO0732 snapped out immediately.**

**One out of seven subjects passed the second test (AO0453). Three out of seven subjects failed to pass the second test (AO0678, AO0328, AO0512). AO0161 snapped out.**

**Formula 2 unsuccessful. Lack of logos. Reduce benzodiazepines.**

That didn’t… seem good.

Who was Seungmin kidding. That seemed  _ horrible.  _ How old were these people when experimented on, anyway?

He had the worrying, sneaking suspicion that they were children. It really just makes it worse.

“What’s got you so worried?” Jeongin asks through a mouthful of noodles. Seungmin is unable to hide a wince. 

(The North might use manners and ‘etiquette’ as a way to dehumanize people and screw them over but speaking with your mouth full was nasty no matter where you were.)

“It’s, um, something not very fun.”

“Let me see,” Jeongin says, finally swallowing his noodles and making grabby hands for the paper. “Please?”

And Seungmin is a weak,  _ weak  _ person so he carefully slides over the packet. Jeongin scans the first page.

He can physically see Jeongin’s mood change.

“How  _ old  _ were they?”

“Based on the super three?” Seungmin says. “Maybe, like, teenagers or something.”

Jeongin winces, setting the packet down. “That’s… ”

Worrying. Terrible. Just plain  _ bad.  _ Seungmin doesn’t say anything, just quietly flips to the next page.

It’s all the same. Details of experimentation and what was essentially mind control. Seungmin reads with quiet horror as the number of ‘subjects’ gradually shrinks. From seven to six to five to four to two to one.

**Log 50**

**24:8:16**

**Subjects: Seo Chang Bin (AO0161)**

**Test one passed by one subject (AO0161).**

**Test two passed (AO0161).**

**Test three passed (AO0161).**

**No lasting mental or physical complications. Brief period of confusion and exhaustion after snapping out. Subject seems not to have any recollection of prior tests.**

**Formula 50 successful. Subject Seo Chang Bin (AO0161) to begin training immediately.**

Seungmin quietly puts the packet down. Jeongin reaches over and Seungmin lets him.

“Where’s Han Jisung?” Jeongin asks after a brief moment of pages flipping. 

“No idea,” Seungmin says. “Maybe he’s just a normal assassin. Maybe they gave him the 50th formula after. Who knows.”

Jeongin sets the packet down and Seungmin can see it in his eyes, the way his brain molds and rearranges around this new information. 

They’re never going to get rid of the three now, he realizes. Jeongin has almost certainly adopted them, even though Jeongin is older than all the assassins.

“You’re never letting them go now, are you.”

“Of course not!” Jeongin says, alarmed. “They’ve been experimented on, Minnie! For like mind control or something! It’s horrible!”

“I know,” Seungmin says.

“I’m helping them,” Jeongin says and there’s fire shimmering under his skin, glowing in his irises, burning determination. Kindness is his most beautiful attribute and Seungmin feels like it has to be heresy of some sort, to even look. “You’re going to help me.”

Of course he will. 

“Yeah,” Seungmin agrees. “I will.”

  
  


Changbin sits up when he hears footsteps. Two pairs. They get closer and closer and then the door is thrown open, with I.N. and Kim Seungmin behind it.

“Hey,” I.N. says. 

“I.N.,” Jisung greets. There’s no game under his arm, Changbin notes and that makes him just the slightest bit wary.

“Yang Jeongin,” I.N. says. “My name is Yang Jeongin. Come with me.”

“What - ”

I.N. - Yang Jeongin - cuts them off. 

“You’re a part of us now,” Yang says and the ferocity that burns in his eyes both awes and scares Changbin. That’s the look of someone who is going to get something done, no matter what. He’s not going to mess with that sort of strength. “No one will hurt you.”

“And?” Chan asks, cutting straight through the stunned silence.

“And,” Yang says, “we need to make introductions. Without hostility.”

Introductions.

They really are going full-on into this ally thing, aren’t they. Changbin has to wonder; when will the other shoe drop? Nothing but time lasts forever.

But he looks towards Chan, silently asking the question.  _ Do we do it? _

_ We do it,  _ Chan’s eyes say.  _ We have to. _

He’s right.

So Changbin slides off the bed and like clockwork they all follow, rearranging smoothly into a single-file line. Yang seems pleased, smiling brightly. It startles Changbin a little, how quickly his facial expressions change.

Everything startled him at this point. He had to make a tally or something. And just when Changbin thought he was startled enough Kim Seungmin smiles at well. Not at them; at Yang. It’s soft and sweet and makes Changbin feel awkward.

Did that count as improper?

He has no idea. That’s happening so much now.

“This way,” Yang says and his voice is softer, but with no less resolve. Changbin’s respect for him is steadily growing. “We’re going to sit down and actually talk and figure out where we’re going from here.”

Changbin glances back at Chan and Jisung for a split second. They all make a sort of shrugging motion.

Guess they’re doing this now.


	15. Validity of Choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update, I know. The next chapter might be a little late, since I'm preparing for my practical and theoretical music examinations and work is ramping up. Hopefully it won't be too delayed. :)
> 
> The angst train is back!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -Jay

With what can only be described as mild confusion, Changbin trails after Yang as they round up others like it’s some sort of weird party.

This didn’t have any planning, did it.

“Felix!” Yang says cheerfully, waving. “Get over here, we’re doing introductions. Again.”

Yongbok (Felix?? Was that like Chan being Chris?) grins and cheerfully falls in with them, behind Chan. Changbin glances back - Chan doesn’t look too uncomfortable, which is good.

They pick up Hwang Hyunjin next, who takes a spot between Changbin and Jisung. Jisung does not look happy with that placement so Changbin discreetly rearranges their spots.

‘Thanks,’ Jisung mouths, brushing Changbin’s hand with his own. Changbin nods.

Finally is Lee Minho, who takes one look at their odd parade, stands up, and quietly joins them, taking up the rear. Changbin stands up on tiptoe to try and look at Yang (why was Hwang so  _ tall),  _ who catches his gaze and smiles reassuringly.

It actually does reassure Changbin a little, to his surprise. And worry.

Yang leads them to a different room - it’s a bedroom, one that isn’t theirs - and sits down. Wordlessly, Kim sits down next to him, then Hwang, then Changbin, then Jisung and Chan, then Yongbok (Felix??) and finally Lee so they’re in a circle of sorts.

“Right,” Yang says, wrapping an arm around Kim’s shoulder. Changbin’s eyes are automatically drawn to the brief moment of contact. So are, he can tell, Chan’s and Jisung’s. It’s just so  _ odd.  _ “We’re going to introduce ourselves because we have to know each other. And no one will argue. Got it?”

Changbin honestly isn’t sure how long this truce would last but he nods shortly.  _ Just follow directions,  _ he tells himself.  _ You’ll be fine. And when the other shoe drops, get out. _

“I’m Yang Jeongin,” Yang Jeongin starts. “Though you guys already know that. Seungminnie is my boyfriend, that’s why we’re wearing jewelry.”

They were dating. That explained the contact, then. Changbin supposed it was excusable. 

“I’m his boyfriend,” Kim says, tilting his head towards Yang. “I was originally from the North, though I came here when I was maybe sixteen. You already know that story.”

Changbin does know it and it still makes his head spin, trying to fit the story with the information he knew already. Nothing matched up. Either Kim was lying or what he knew was a lie. And Changbin didn’t want to believe any of that.

(Kim Seungmin is possibly the most familiar and unfamiliar part of this new world. Changbin just wants the comfort of sense but now everything has started to flip on its axis.)

“My name is Hwang Hyunjin,” Hwang says politely. “And sushi is better then cheesecake.”

Jisung splutters, outraged. 

Honestly, Jisung arguing with Hwang was beginning to be the most familiar part of the South. Jisung could argue with anyone over anything, a skill that had saved their lives several times and one that Changbin quite frankly admired.

“No arguing,” Yang says firmly. Kim doesn’t say anything but gives both Jisung and Hwang a cutting look.

Yeah, he’s definitely from the North. The stare is ridiculously familiar, one that Changbin, his friends, and all the guards/servants have mastered.

(It makes his heart ache.)

“Sorry, Innie,” Hwang says. Nicknames. They’re probably not in a relationship and Changbin wonders. “Okay, truce. Sushi and cheesecake are both good. I was wrong.”

He actually holds out a hand and Jisung gives it a skeptical look, glances at Changbin who shrugs and glances at Chan. Who shrugs and glances at Jisung.

(They’re all useless. Changbin loves them anyway.)

(Him included. In the useless part.)

“Fine,” Jisung mutters and takes Hwang’s hand. Shakes it once, lets go. 

‘You good?’ Changbin mouths.

‘Yeah.’

Jisung’s ears have reddened a little. He still looks a little irritated, but Hwang’s truce has mollified him a little. Changbin suppresses a small smile.

“I’m Seo Changbin,” he says, since everyone is looking at him now. 

“And?” Yang prompts.

And… 

Well, Changbin isn’t sure. He can run really fast. He’s the strongest out of all of them. He’s scared of small places (for whatever reason it’s stupid and - ). 

“I can run fast.”

No one speaks for a second. Changbin calmly ignores everything and focuses on Jisung, whose right knee is touching his left knee.

“I’m Han Jisung,” Jisung says. Changbin could die for him. Would die for him. Has thought about dying for him. Has thought about dying, period, not really a constant  _ I-want-to-die  _ but just on off moments, when it feels like the world is crushing him under its weight and death might hurt less, maybe it’d be better to drown so he could breathe. “I like the colour red. And winter is the best season.”

See, Changbin doesn’t really disagree with that, but he personally kind of prefers autumn, when everything is so colourful.

(Everything is also decaying but you know what it’s still kind of nice.)

“Bang Chan,” Chan says. “Autumn is better than winter.”

Jisung makes an offended noise and Changbin watches with mild amusement as they have a silent argument.

_ Oh no way. Winter over autumn any day, son. _

_ Look, autumn is beautiful. Winter is cold and unforgiving. Autumn feels peaceful. _

_ What do you mean winter is cold and unforgiving? It’s beautiful! _

And really it’s very funny but there are  _ people  _ here who are also watching with mild amusement and maybe Chan catches that because he breaks the argument and nods towards Lee (not Minho).

“I’m Felix,” Lee says. “Just Felix. Please don’t call me Yongbok, I hate that name.”

Well.

Felix, Changbin notes. Just Felix. Not Yongbok because he hates that name.

Names can be weird in that way. Changbin doesn’t really hate any of his names - SpearB is fine, and B is okay, and AO0161 just kind of makes him feel empty inside which is like fine - but he can see why you would hate a name.

And just like that Yon - Felix - becomes the slightest bit more familiar in Changbin’s eyes.

“I can’t eat spicy food,”  _ Felix  _ continues. Weak. “And I’m a bit of a scaredy-cat, so please don’t sneak up on me with your super-assassin powers.”

Changbin wasn’t planning on doing that (he was mostly planning on training a lot, avoiding everyone, and not dying) but okay.

“I noticed you have a slight accent?” Felix asks and he’s looking at Chan, who doesn’t react save for a blink. “Are you from the East as well?”

“Not originally.”

Chan’s accent was something he didn’t talk about very much. Or his parentage. Changbin never asked; he wasn’t exactly the most open person either.

“Well, it’s cool anyway,” Felix says. “And winter is the best season.”

Jisung gives Chan a look that screams triumphance. Chan just sighs through his nose, but Changbin can tell he’s kind of smiling. Just a little.

“I’m Lee Minho,” Lee Minho says bluntly. “You’re wrong. Autumn is the best season.”

“No, it’s winter,” Yang argues. 

“Innie you’re my boyfriend,” Kim says and what a thing to say out in the open (how does no one look surprised?), “but I have to disagree. Autumn.”

“Autumn,” Hwang agrees and Jisung gives him a disparaging look.

“Winter. B, you agree with me, right?”

Changbin hesitates. He would agree with Jisung, except he kind of prefers autumn and Jisung isn’t technically a superior so it’s fine if he disagrees right?

Hopefully the South people wouldn’t be mad if he disagreed. Changbin hated having to think about this.

“Sorry. Autumn.”

“Outvoted,” Hwang says, pointing at Jisung. “Autumn is the best season, it’s just a fact.”

Jisung gives Changbin a look that says  _ betrayal!  _ and Changbin has to force down a smile.

What is, he wonders, this newfound familiarity? And how long would it last? 

This hesitation is stupid. And frustrating. It was so much easier before, when people were classified as either ally, target, or civilian. But Changbin, oddly enough, doesn’t want to kill these people.

Even if they were technically targets.

Not anymore, he supposes. They should be considered allies. That’s just honesty, since Changbin  _ is _ getting shelter from them, and he mentally rearranges their files.

(They were getting shelter. And food. And water. And not death or pain. And Changbin has to wonder; what would they want in return?)

(Would he even be able to refuse, if they asked something of him?)

Their circle has quietly devolved into chaos. Yang and Kim are arguing - not in a mean way, just a playful argument like Jisung would have with Chan or Changbin - while the Lee duo have also started arguing. Hwang has initiated some weird conversation with Jisung that seems like a mix between a fight and a get-to-know-you talk. 

“You know what?” Jisung says at one point. “If you want to say something, think for a moment. If it is something you agree with, it’s probably wrong.”

Hwang actually laughs at that, a little startled. Changbin shares a glance with Chan, who shakes his head slightly.

‘Want to leave?’ 

‘Kind of. Jisung?’

‘You want to tell him?’

Changbin nudges Jisung with his left knee for a moment and Jisung’s look flashes over to him.

‘Chan wants to leave.’

‘Give me a moment?’

A moment (probably just to end the Jisung/Hwang argument, really) later and Jisung is standing up. Changbin stands up next and then Chan.

“Where are you going?” Lee (Minho) asks, eyes sharp.

“Train,” Chan shrugs. Lee shares a look with the other four and after a brief second nods.

“Okay. I’ll come with you.”

“We won’t fly out,” Jisung says sarcastically.

“Yeah and you won’t tunnel through the walls, either. I’m bored, that’s why.”

Chan actually frowns and Changbin can understand why. Training is usually something they do in private. Guards were one thing, Lee Minho was another.

“Can I come?” Felix asks. And then everyone is coming, like a flock of cygnets or something. Changbin is most certainly  _ not  _ comfortable with this and he gives Chan a silent pleading look.

_ I don’t like this. _

_ Me neither,  _ is Chan’s reply.

_ Should we say something? _

_ It might be a good idea. _

_ Or it might not. _

How did you ask for comfort? In all his life, Changbin had rarely done such a thing. If you were uncomfortable, tough luck. Make it comfortable. Figure something out or suffer.

But this was most certainly a giant exception to the cardinal rule of  _ don’t complain, you have it so much better, deal with it. _

Chan seems to be having the same dilemna and Jisung as well. Changbin is about to just agree and go, it didn’t matter anyway, they were living under these people’s collective roof, you followed their rules but Kim Seungmin steps in.

“I don’t think they’re very comfortable with that. Maybe just one of us?”

It’s at that moment that Changbin silently rewrites Kim Seungmin to just Seungmin in his book.

“Oh, you should have said so!” Felix says, looking a teensy bit alarmed. Was that a trick question or something? Changbin struggles to figure it out. “I’ll stay behind.”

“Me too,” Yang says.

“Me three,” Hwang says and it’s such a stupid joke. Changbin will never admit he finds it sort of funny.

“Just me, then,” Lee says. “You all okay with that?”

Well they can’t refuse now. Changbin doesn’t really know how ‘okay’ with that he is but Chan nods hesitantly and Changbin and Jisung follow with nods of their own.

They stick with each other’s decisions, no matter what.

The advantage of having another person is that they can actually have proper partners now instead of being a weird triad of fighting. 

Fight triangles. Changbin forces down a snicker at the bad joke.

Jisung doesn’t seem to want to fight Lee, though, and Changbin doesn’t either so he partners up with Jisung, leaving Chan to take one for the team.

‘Sorry.’

‘It’s ok.’

And Chan beats Lee in their first fight and just like that the world is better again. Everything how it should be. 

Jisung wins their first round of fighting but Changbin beats him the next time. They switch partners after that, with Chan going up against Jisung and Changbin against Lee.

Lee isn’t bad at fighting - he’s actually pretty decent and not against using dirty tricks. Problem is, Changbin isn’t against using dirty tricks either. And his job is to kill people.

He has a split moment of  _ maybe I should not win, so he doesn’t get mad  _ but Lee hadn’t gotten mad when Chan had beat him so hopefully it was okay? Maybe?

Well, it was a little too late to lose now.

It’s not like Changbin knows protocol for being with foreign people anyway. Sparring removed most of the rules anyway; you did whatever you needed to win, other than outright murder, and if someone broke a bone well that happened. Life could do worse than break a bone so get to the medical wing and come back in a bit chop chop.

(Fighting with broken bones is not something Changbin would recommend and was actually pretty painful. It wasn’t very helpful that their instructors would sometimes break/dislocate their bones on purpose so they could train with that.)

(Changbin never liked those training sessions. And it always took forever to heal. Ugh.)

But Changbin feels like Lee might not appreciate it if Changbin dislocated his wrist no matter his intentions so he doesn’t. You’re welcome, person who may or may not be an ally. I will leave your wrists and other dislocatable joints alone for the time being.

Lee taps out eventually and Changbin joins Chan and Jisung for a last set of exercises. He’s definitely showering after this (after Jisung and Chan, though, since as they say he always hogs the shower). Sweat beads on the back of his neck, runs down. Changbin rolls up his leggings.

“Wow.”

Lee Minho’s voice. Changbin glances over.

“You have an impressive amount of scars.”

So do Chan and Jisung, Changbin isn’t exactly special.

“We all do,” Chan says and there’s something defensive about his posture that makes Changbin feel just a little safer.

“I can imagine.”

He debates on whether or not to roll down his leggings again, decides no because Lee doesn’t seem uncomfortable, just mildly impressed which is actually a nice reaction considering how most people (Changbin included, if he’s really being honest) flinch away or react with disgust. 

Also he overheats really easily and any socially acceptable way to show skin helps a lot. Changbin gets back to his exercises. 

Jisung finishes first, then Chan, then Changbin. That makes him this week’s loser. Oof.

_ Shower?  _ he asks Chan silently.

_ Shower. _

_ Shower. _

Lee accompanies them back and Changbin lets himself fall behind, sees Chan do the same thing so he’s shadowing Changbin. Nothing personal against Lee (kind of), but having someone Changbin doesn’t completely trust behind him just makes him uncomfortable.

It makes Changbin wonder sometimes. Chan’s always trying to protect them in his own way, always taking the very back so he’ll take any blows, always scouting, their guard from the shadows. Who protects him?

He hasn’t done a good job of protecting Chan, has he. Changbin knows the stubborn idiot would argue against it, tell them about how great they are,  _ you don’t have to do it, I’m the leader. _

But Changbin does what he wants unless ordered to do something else. What did that mean, anyway? You were supposed to protect the leader. That was the entire point of their job. To protect  _ the  _ leader.

Not anymore.

Changbin’s footsteps are steady but his mind is a swirling mess of frustration. You didn’t just get over something like treachery. Maybe that was the true punishment, how it would continuously haunt you, forever and ever, eating away at your soul.

Lee lets them go into their room alone (thank  _ god - _ no matter how unfamiliar it is Changbin has started to think of this room as a sort of safe haven) and Jisung immediately grabs another set of clothing, heads for the shower.

“I’ll do the laundry,” Changbin says, just to fill the silence. Chan nods, taking a seat. He looks tired.

_ Are you okay?  _ he shouldn’t say because why would they be okay? Those words just felt useless.

He says them anyway because even if they’re not Changbin wants to know.

“Are you okay?”

“Are you?” Chan rebuffs sharply. It makes Changbin tense automatically - the tone is one he has come to associate with hurt. “Oh, B. I’m so sorry.”

And just like that they’re both crying. Chan is sweaty and gross and so is Changbin but he reaches out, grasps Chan’s hand blindly in his.

“I’m a failure,” Chan sobs out. “I’m such a failure, I should have protected you.”

Changbin wants to say something, opens his mouth to do it. The words are on the tip of his tongue and nearly fall out but Chan keeps talking, burying his face into Changbin’s shoulder and he can tell that Chan just wants to vent so he swallows them back up, carefully puts a hand around Changbin’s shoulder.

“You two are my everything,” Chan whispers and he’s so much braver than Changbin could be, daring to say that. “Everything. When you and Jisung tried to give yourselves - it - I was terrified, B. I was so terrified.”

So was he. They all were, Changbin knew. He tilts his head back, tries to not let the tears fall. It’s not his turn to feel sad, it’s not his right to feel sad. Feelings are a privilege that Changbin never knows if he can have.

“Please tell me I’m not a disappointment,” Chan pleads and Changbin looks into his eyes, sees himself reflected in them, a figure made of stone.

Is that who he is?

“You’re not,” he finds the strength to say and the words float out into the world, fragile like silk, would break if Changbin pressed too hard. “You’re -  _ Chan.  _ You’re always trying to save us - ”

“It’s not  _ enough -” _

“It’ll always be enough, you’re always enough, you’re more than enough - ”

“You had to save me and Jisung, it wasn’t enough - ”

“Don’t,” Changbin snaps and it comes out too loud, too painful, rings through the air. “No, don’t. I wanted to, Chan, you’re amazing, I - ”

_ I care about you. _

_ I love you. _

_ That’s why I did it. Because we love each other.  _

He’s not brave enough to say it so Changbin carefully, slowly pulls Chan into a hug and holds him tight, prays that his grasp is enough to say what he never could.

“Why?” Chan whispers into Changbin’s neck. “You should have just shot me, it would have been fine, I wouldn’t have cared.”

“I couldn’t,” Changbin breathes and tears roll down his cheeks, pool in divot between his collarbones. “I could never, Chan.”

Why hadn’t he?

Because as much as Changbin tried to, he couldn’t regret it. He would never regret saving his friends.

The door opens. Jisung steps out, tosses the clothes into the laundry bin. Takes one look at Changbin and Chan and immediately joins them, wrapping them up in a tight hug.

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” Chan murmurs, slipping out of their combined grasp and Changbin lets him. “I’m going to shower.”

Oh, Chan.

“B?” Jisung asks softly. “You good?”

Changbin stares at the wall. It’s painted in a shade of blue. Different from the white or grey or black he’s so familiar with.

“I don’t regret it,” he whispers and the words come out broken like Changbin is starting to realize he might be. “I can’t, Ji. I can’t regret it.”

Jisung hugs him even tighter. “You mean…”

“Yeah.”

_ Does that make me wrong? Does that make me bad? _

He gets no response. A tear falls onto his shoulder, soaks through the fabric of his shirt. Jisung.

Chan comes out only minutes later, throws his clothing into the laundry. Wordlessly Changbin twists out of Jisung’s grasp, grabs a change of clothes from the drawers. Heads into the bathroom.

Water runs over his back and shoulders, blends in easily with the tears that flow out of his eyes. Changbin thumps his head against the tile, ignores the dull pain that shoots through his forehead. There’s a scar on his side, a knotted line of skin. Old taser burns dotting his stomach - he could never quite remember where they came from. On his arm, a mark formed from a hasty jump, bone piercing through skin. It still itched occasionally.

It didn’t matter anymore. He’d made his choice.

Changbin turns the water off, gets out. Dries himself off, changes. Throws his clothes into the laundry basket and goes to sit next to Jisung.

“Sleep?” Chan murmurs into the silence. 

Might help. Changbin just wanted to not think about the insane state of his mind.

“Sleep,” Jisung says, reaches out. It’s still daytime, but Changbin has slept at weirder points of the day.

He pulls the blankets up, rearranges them into a sort of fort. Chan burrows under and so does Changbin and Jisung as well and they don’t even bother pretending they won’t be cuddling, immediately going in for a hug.

At the end of the day, Changbin had done exactly what they’d been warned not to do and it wasn’t just disloyalty.

He chose his friends over the Monarch. He chose his team over the North because Changbin loved Chan and Jisung more than he loved ( _ feared,  _ something in his head whispers,  _ it’s fear)  _ the Monarch, the person he was created to serve.

It was wrong. It was supposed to be wrong. Changbin’s brain screamed it out, voices echoing over and over again:  _ wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong. _

But there was one voice that crept in through the rest, a voice that whispered  _ right.  _

Who, Changbin wondered, did you listen to? What did you choose? How did you know which love was good? 

Chan has fallen asleep, Changbin can tell. His breaths are slower, have evened out. His pulse is steady. Jisung isn’t quite asleep yet but he will be soon. Changbin waits.

Minutes pass, dragging on. Jisung falls asleep.

He should fall asleep too. Changbin should just lie down and go to sleep, enter dreamland, count sheep, whatever.

And naturally, he can’t. 

_ Go do something,  _ a voice says.  _ Anything. Dance. Train. Run. Doesn’t matter just do something you idiot.  _

Should he tell Chan?

Probably.

“I’m going to go dance,” he says quietly, trying not to rouse Jisung. It fails.

“I’ll come,” Jisung says through a yawn. He looks relaxed, kind of hazy. 

“You should sleep,” Chan murmurs, gently nudging Jisung back. “I’ll stay with you.”

Jisung blinks up at Chan, who pulls the blankets higher. “Sleep,” he says firmly. “Now.”

Changbin slips out while Chan is occupied, shoving a hand through his hair. He’s wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants, which should be good and - the laundry.

Oh yeah. How had he forgotten?

Well, that was something to do now. Changbin picks up the bin and heads out the room, looking around. There’s a passing guard.

Should he?

Might as well.

“Uh, hi?”

The guard glances over at him. Frowns.

“Yeah?”

“Do you know where the laundry room is?”

“Mmhm. Go down this hall, down the stairs, take the first left and go down again, you’ll find the laundry room.”

That was a little confusing but Changbin wasn’t going to ask further. “Thank you,” he says, doing a sort-of bow, and heads off. Down the hall, stairs, first left, go down, laundry room.

Seemed okay.

Taped to the wall is a chart of sorts, Changbin notes. It’s a list of washing machines and their ‘status’.

Washing machine 3 is, apparently, unoccupied so Changbin writes  **_Occupied_ ** in the space provided then heads over to it.

Water temperature: cold, obviously.

Cycle: normal? 

Load size: it was about half full so medium.

He pours in detergent (two thirds of the lid because laundry was universal), closes the door, and turns the machine on. It would be around eighty minutes, Changbin estimated, so he could just leave the basket in the designated basket area and go do whatever.

This was dumb.

But Changbin doesn’t have much better to do so he sets the basket down (adds a tag from the… tag sheet) and heads out. 

The realization that he doesn’t know where to go sets in as soon as Changbin leaves the laundry room because  _ this is a completely unfamiliar place in a completely unfamiliar country you idiot what are you doing  _ and he didn’t even know if there was a dance studio or something, the only places he had been to were the prison cells (not useful), a training room (potentially useful) and his own room (could work).

So he just goes back to his own room because Changbin is a coward. If he’s really quiet he might not wake up Jisung or Chan and they would all be okay.

Chan is awake when Changbin enters their room, giving him a quick look. Jisung is a barely moving lump under the sheets next to him.

‘You’re not…’

‘Don’t know where it is.’ 

‘Ask?’

‘Nervous.’

Thankfully, Chan doesn’t laugh or something like that, just nods understandingly. ‘Go later. Together.’

Yeah, that sounds good. Changbin nods in agreement and sits down with his back against the headboard, pulls his knees up to his chest. It’s a paltry imitation of safety but Changbin will take whatever he can get at this point. Chan shifts over to flank his left side, a steady line of warmth.

They’ll sit like this in silence until Jisung wakes up and then they’ll go do something. Together, as Chan had said (kind of). It’s a good, if requiring a long wait period, plan. One Changbin is comfortable with. Nice and familiar.

Footsteps come down through the hallway. Changbin feels his brows furrow before he smoothes them out. The door opens.

“What is it?” Chan asks. Lee Minho regards them from the doorway, arms crossed. Every instinct in Changbin’s brain starts to awaken, muscles tensing. 

“We need your help.”

Twenty minutes into their wait and that plan abruptly shatters to pieces.


	16. Liquified Starlight In Your Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are and finally some action! Also, harmony and composition confuses me and my music friends are no help. I've drawn so many rests.
> 
> CW//violence (not too graphic)
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -Jay

It wasn’t exactly plan number 1. But it might actually be a good idea.

Minho watches as the short one - Seo Changbin - shifts slightly and the sleeping assassin sits up, blinking. All three look perfectly alert, even with Han Jisung’s messy hair.

“What for?” Bang Chan asks.

“There have been reports of a local trafficking ring,” Minho says. And when he’d thought they were all gone, too. Ugh. “We’d like your help in investigating.”

“Why?” Han asks, eyes narrowing.

“You’re assassins,” Minho says dryly. “Probably better qualified for this job than any of us.”

No one says anything for a moment. Han and Seo glance over at Bang. Minho waits for the decision.

“Give us all the details,” Bang finally says, meeting Minho’s gaze without any hint of nervousness. “Where it is, who we’re dealing with, what resources we’ll have.”

His stare is challenging;  _ if we’re working together, can we trust you. Will you trust us. _

And Minho has no intentions of failing this test.

“Downtown, about a forty minute drive from here,” he says. “These are only suspicions but we think it may be an organized operation. You’ll have a squad of trained police and your usual weapons.”

“Gun?”

“Gun.”

“Knives?”

“Knives.”

“Taser?”

“Taser.”

“Earpiece?”

“Walkie-talkie.”

A shared glance between the three of them. Minho keeps his eyes on Bang, who holds most of the decision making power. 

“We’ll do it,” Bang says finally and Seo and Han both nod in unison. “How long do we have to get this done?”

“As much time as it takes. I do ask that you try to minimize collateral damage.”

None of the assassins react, nodding easily. Minho allows the barest hint of a smile to slip onto his face.

“Get ready and we’ll go. Hyunjin will be waiting outside.”

  
  


They’re going on a mission, it seems. Changbin rolls his shoulders back.

It might be for a different country than before, but this is something he’s familiar with. Changbin has done this all his life. Odd as it may be, the notion made him feel a lot more relaxed.

None of them have their usual masks (sadly) or any gear, so Changbin just pulls on a pair of black pants and shrugs on his jacket. All of their clothing is different this time. He’s wearing navy and black, while Jisung is in navy and dark grey and Chan has dark grey and black. 

No earpieces, either. Changbin hopes that a walkie-talkie wouldn’t be too loud or annoying to use. At least it was some form of communication.

“Ready?” Hwang asks. 

“Ready,” Chan confirms. Changbin and Jisung echo him.

“Great. Let’s go.”

The wind hits Changbin like a metaphorical truck, raising goosebumps on his skin. It’s cold and fresh and when he inhales a heady feeling rushes through his body. 

Honestly, he kind of likes it. With the wind comes autumn, Changbin has learned, and autumn is his favourite season. The leaves aren’t changing quite yet but he knows in maybe a week or so red and orange and yellow will begin to bleed through, overtaking the shades of green.

Seasons are a funny thing, Changbin thinks as they get in the car and start driving. Winter was hard to work with, since snow made footprints very obvious and there was less cover in greenery. Spring was wet and annoying and mud was irritating like snow. Summer was probably best; decently comfortable temperature, plenty of greenery, not much to leave footprints in. Autumn was nice, though, with the temperature being cooler. But dead leaves could be very loud if you weren’t careful.

Changbin wonders sometimes why he liked autumn more than summer. It wasn’t more useful. But there was just something comforting about the breeze, about the colours and everything dying. It turned what would normally be sad into something beautiful. Maybe that was why Changbin liked it. If dead leaves could be beautiful, so could he.

(Chan liked autumn because it was warm, apparently, and reminded him of home. Changbin always wondered what part of home it reminded him of but never really asked. Maybe he should have.)

(Jisung liked winter because it was beautiful and calm and that was all he’d ever said. To be fair, Changbin never said much about his own favourite season either.)

“You tired?” he asks Jisung, who looks a little sleepy. Jisung gives him a small smile. It fades quickly as it comes.

“I’m good.”

Changbin glances over at Chan, who exhales a soft sigh and reaches over to bump Jisung’s shoulder gently.

“Sleep.”

“I’ll wake you,” Changbin adds when Jisung seems unsure. He manages a tiny smile, feels the muscles in his cheek ache a little bit. Smiling feels so rare. Changbin doesn’t know when he last smiled.

That was actually… kind of sad. It made his heart twist in weird ways. People like Yang seemed to smile so easily. Changbin wondered how they could do it. If he never would.

“Alright then,” Jisung sighs and smiles back, a tiny bit. Changbin glances over at Chan for a split second and sees that he’s smiling a little as well. It’s genuine, he can tell, and makes Chan look relaxed. Calm.

Jisung goes to sleep, leaning on the window, and Changbin feels the smile slip away, dissolving into a neutral expression. Chan’s remains for a bit more before fading. 

He looks up at the rearview mirror, sees that Hwang is watching them. Changbin frowns on reflex;  _ don’t watch us, people shouldn’t see this it’s not good  _ and thankfully Hwang’s gaze slides away, over to the window and it makes Changbin feel the slightest bit calmer.

The scenery flies by, brick and metal and concrete, grass and trees and bushes, banners and flower pots and flashing signs. A bustling city, with people everywhere. Changbin spots a building with vines crawling up the sides, decorating it with bright green and dark purple. Decorative? Probably. What an interesting choice. The entire city was just so  _ vivid _ .

(Changbin had no idea if it was good or not. Vividity in small, controlled doses was okay; too much, he was always told, was not. But it was, at the same time, kind of neat.) 

“What do you think?” Hwang asks seemingly deciding now was the time to make conversation with Jisung literally  _ sleeping  _ in the backseat next to him and Changbin nails him with a glare, tilting his head towards Jisung. “Oh, sorry.”

Good.

Jisung has stirred from the talking (seriously, Hwang?) but Changbin and Chan convince him to go back to sleep and Changbin goes back to watching the city pass by.

  
  


“We’re here,” Chan murmurs to Jisung. Changbin, who is sitting in between the two of them, is staring out the window. His face looks perfectly neutral but Chan can tell he’s entranced by the scenery.

The sight is kind of sweet. Childish, in a way. Though they haven’t been children in a long, long time.

(It’s hard to imagine Changbin being a child. Even when he was young Changbin always held a sort of cold gravity in his eyes, steel hard grit and the kind of resolve that would never fade. Innocent is not a word to describe any of them. Probably never will be, either.)

But as soon as Chan says the words any childlike amazement or sleep fades away. Jisung’s eyes flutter open slowly, close for a moment and then snap right open. Changbin turns his head around, gaze sharp. They’re all in mission mode now; you have a job to do, better do it right.

Chan glances over at Lee Minho, who is watching them. Doesn’t even try to hide it, either, which is something Chan can kind of admire.

“Here.”

Three guns, several knives, and three tasers are set onto the glove compartment. Chan takes one, checks that it’s loaded. There’s a silencer and the safety is on. Good. Changbin passes Jisung a gun and taser and two knives. 

They’ve got none of their normal gear so Chan might have to improvise. He rips a strap off the inside of the sleeves (why was that even there?) and makes a rudimentary holster, attaching it to his jacket and folding the fabric down to conceal the gun. The next strap is for his… other gear.

“You know we brought holsters, right,” Lee Minho comments and Chan feels heat crawl up his neck. 

“You should have said so.”

Lee shrugs, unapologetic. “Well, here you go.”

Chan glances over at Changbin and Jisung, matches their mildly irritated looks with one of his own. Then he takes the holster because he’s not  _ that  _ dumb and Chan will choose good gear (useful, potentially life-saving) over pride (not even tangible and not life-saving) any day of the week.

He murmurs a quiet thank you as he slides the gun into the holster, conceals one knife on his hip and another on his lower leg, taser on his other hip. Changbin thanks Lee as well, though it doesn’t sound very sincere, and Jisung says nothing because he’s got a petty streak a mile wide and Chan doesn’t even really mind because they all dote on him anyway.

No one would be able to not dote on Jisung. It was  _ Jisung. _

“So we go in and investigate?”

“Basically, yes,” Lee says. “We’ll be going in pairs. Hyunjin will be out here in case we need a getaway.”

Chan glances over at Jisung, who latches onto Changbin immediately, leaving Chan to go with Lee.

This will be interesting.

Very interesting considering how they hadn’t had time to gather intel at all but whatever. The group of officers are already out there, trying to get in. Someone sets off an alarm.

“Let’s go,” he says, nodding towards Changbin and Jisung, who nod back and slip out of the car quickly. Chan opens the door and slides out, hears Lee go after him. Changbin and Jisung have disappeared around the right side of the building, so Chan heads for the left.

He finds a window, nods towards Lee who lifts him so that Chan can pick it open with his knife. It swings open soundlessly and he pulls himself up, reaches down so that Lee can climb up as well. Chan jumps down as soon as Lee is in, trusting him to close the window, and takes a good look around.

It’s just a room but there are security cameras in the corners, meaning they’ve likely been spotted. Irritating but a part of life. Chan shoots one while Lee gets the other.

“Where to?” Lee asks and how funny, Chan was wondering the exact same question. There’s an air vent up high but it seems too small for them to get into, so the door is the best option.

He goes to pick the lock, freezes when he hears footsteps. Lee is next to him and Chan pulls him flat against the wall so they won’t be seen if the door opens and open it does. A pair of guards step in.

Chan glances over at Lee, who is the closest to the door, and tilts his head subtly. Lee nods and kicks it closed.

“Wha - ”

They don’t get any time to finish that phrase.

His taser is out and Chan tases the first guard right in the stomach, lunges for the second one and wrestles the gun out of his hands, tasing him as well. They’ll be… useful. 

Fifteen minutes later and both guards are dead, with Chan and Lee having stolen their uniforms. Chan makes sure his uniform is spotless (there’s a small fleck of blood on the inside but very unlikely to be seen) and then heads towards the door. No one appears to be coming down the hall, so they leave, Chan making sure to lock the door. The uniform isn’t an impenetrable disguise, but it should buy them a little time.

They fall in with a crowd of running guards, blending in easily. Lee is looking a bit too relaxed for Chan to really be comfortable staying but it’s not like he can turn back and tell him to look agitated like everyone else. That would be even more suspicious, so Chan mirrors the posture and movements of all the others and hopes it’s believable enough.

He wonders how Changbin and Jisung were doing. Hopefully okay. Hopefully hadn’t killed two people already.

“Wang, Kim! Get over here!”

Burly head guard guy is gesturing towards Chan and Lee and he quickly jogs over. The ID Chan had found said Wang, so Lee was Kim. 

“Go with Han and Jung,” burly guy says, gesturing to a pair of tough looking guards. He’s already turning away, likely uncaring of the fact that two of his guards have somehow shapeshifted. “Get to the storage rooms, make sure no one’s broken in. Quick!”

“Yes sir,” Lee says and Chan echoes it, heads off with the two. Han gives him a funny look as they’re heading down and whispers something to Jung.

Uh oh.

Chan won’t kill them yet, not unless they try to blow their cover, but they have to be careful. He hopes Lee gets the message.  _ No killing, not yet. Just pretend it’s fine. They might fool themselves. _

Jung pauses them as they near the storage. “So, Kim, uh…”

_ Lee don’t you dare mess this up. _

_ Don’t you  _ **_dare._ **

“Minjun,” Lee says without an ounce of nervousness. 

The shift in Han’s and Jung’s faces is all he needs to know. 

Chan reacts before anyone else does, tasing Han straight in the stomach and then lunging for Jung, grabbing his chin to force his head up and jabbing him straight in the throat.

He’s seen this move executed before, knows what happens when you do it properly. The pharynx caves in, stopping them from breathing. If you hit it hard enough, they could die. Where Jung had probably meant to yell, it comes out as a hoarse croak and Chan rolls off. Lee has already knocked Han unconscious, so he was down for the count.

It’s at times like this that Chan sometimes feels hesitation. Do you leave them alive or kill them?

Generally, it was just safer to kill.

Lee shakes his head when Chan reaches for his knife, though, and nods towards the storage. Right.

Goodbye, Han and Jung.

Chan immediately locks the door as soon as they enter and barricades it. Someone would likely be down to investigate and they had to get out. Or maybe not, considering the alarms blaring and what sounded like something breaking above them.

He turns around, stills. Lee is muttering furiously into a walkie-talkie. 

There are people. In a cage. Children, all of them, some sobbing silently, some cowering, some glaring up at Chan with impressive rage. 

As a person, Chan isn’t exactly kind or soft or anything like that. But he feels his heart drop, horror bubbling up in his chest. They were  _ kids.  _

“I called for help,” Lee says, turning the walkie-talkie off with a soft hiss of static. “Reinforcements should be here soon. Your teammates are at a different room. An office or something.”

Chan nods stiffly, leans against the wall. Catches the eye of a terrified looking kid - what was she, three?

This was horrific.

“Thank you, by the way,” Lee murmurs quietly. “For saving me in the hallway.”

“It’s okay,” Chan says. His voice comes out a near whisper. “You’re on my team.”

He immediately stiffens, realizing what he’d just said. Lee wasn’t a part of his team, he was a leader of an enemy country  _ what are you thinking - _

_ Snap out of it,  _ the more logical part of him says harshly.  _ You raided a human trafficking ring with him, at this point you’re on the same side.  _

(Really, doing missions together is the best bonding experience.)

Lee is staring at him with a look that resembles a smile, eyes reflecting the flickering fluorescent lights and it occurs to Chan that he’s startlingly beautiful. “Thanks, Chan.”

And his ears are heating up again, a sure sign of embarrassment so Chan retreats into himself, says something about teams and protecting people that he honestly forgets the moment it leaves his mouth. He can feel eyes watching him, multiple pairs, and at some point Chan pulls out his knife and heads over to the cage, trying to pick the door lock.

The cage door swings open and Chan slides the knife back, steps away from the cage. No one reacts, all the kids staring up at him like he’s either going to stab them or fly through the ceiling.

“He won’t hurt you,” Lee says and Chan watches out of the corner of his eye as he approaches, crouches down a good distance away. “Chan’s harmless, see?”

Well, not really. But these kids don’t need to know that so Chan lets a small smile appear on his face, crouches down and curls his shoulders in a little to make himself look less threatening. He sets down the knife for good measure. “We won’t do anything. You can come out.”

The first to try is a kid who looks to be about five, with tousled blond hair. She hesitantly crawls out, blue eyes scanning both Chan and Lee for a hint of threat. Chan convinces himself to smile wider, turns his palms up in a welcoming gesture. Doesn’t move, just waits.

A small hand touches his briefly (it’s dirty and scraped and the nails are bitten and Chan’s heart aches) and then jerks away. Chan makes no reaction whatsoever, grateful for his training. Staying still is a massively underrated skill.

He waits for the girl to become more comfortable with him, ignores the shouts coming from outside and the sudden bang. The girl jumps away but Chan murmurs softly  _ it’s okay, you won’t get hurt, we can fight them off. _

It feels like Changbin all over again, except this time it’s with a child who won’t break Chan’s wrist but makes him feel heartbroken nontheless. Lee is watching the door with sharp eyes, one hand on his gun. And Chan sits there, holding the hand of a five year old.

The door breaks open, a policeman rushes in yelling “Freeze!” The girl jumps back and Chan reaches out, catches her before she trips, steadies her gently. 

“Captain Park,” Lee says coolly. “Wonderful of you to make it. How is everything going?”

“Oh - I’m so - ”

“As you can see,” Lee says, breezing right over him, “we need to get these children out of here and somewhere safer. This is your top priority.”

“What about - ”

“We’ll go with you, of course, and handle it.”

“What’s happening?” the girl whispers. A child in the corner has started to cry, being hurriedly comforted by two other children. 

“You’re going to get out of here,” Chan whispers back. “It’s going to be okay.”

He’s said those words so much but here is where it truly feels real. The kids will be okay or someone will be suffering the consequences.

Driving back is exhausting. Changbin and Jisung both have that blank-eyed look that Chan has come to associate with horror. 

In a rare display of affection, he grasps Changbin’s hand, squeezes tightly. Does the same with Jisung’s. Feels how they squeeze back.

“Thank you,” Lee says, looking back. Hwang is driving but he nods in agreement, eyes focused on the road. “For agreeing to help.”

“No problem,” Chan says. His throat feels dry. 

“No problem,” Changbin says distantly. 

“No problem,” Jisung murmurs and Chan wants to wrap them up in a hug, protect them from everything, but it’s too late.

Minho smiles sadly, as if he can tell what Chan is thinking, but says nothing else and for that Chan is grateful.

  
  


“Dance time?” Changbin asks once they’ve finally finished showering and folding all their clothing back.

“Dance time,” Jisung agrees immediately, stretching.

“Dance time,” Chan confirms and leads them out the door like a mother swan. And then pauses.

“Do you know where to go?”

“Nope. B?”

“Nope.”

They stare at each other for a moment. Changbin has to resist a laugh curling up in his lungs, swallows it down from where it creeps up his throat and it comes out as a soft, slightly shaky exhale.

“Training room, I guess,” Jisung offers and like that they’re off again. Who needs directions?

(Definitely them because Chan was the only smart person out of their trio and Changbin and Jisung just kind of waffled about but whatever.)

Felix bumps into them just as they’re going downstairs. Chan stiffens in place and Changbin is forced to stop as well, a scene that must look ridiculous to any passers-by. “Oh hey, you’re here? Going to train?”

“Dance,” Chan says tersely because it was pretty acceptable in the North but none of them have any idea what will happen here.

“Oh, you dance? We have a studio if you want, we can go together.”

Changbin gives Chan a quick look of panic who shrugs helplessly and they all follow Felix down the stairs. Felix takes a left turn, then a right, then pushes open a door and bows jokingly. “Welcome.”

“Thank you,” Chan says awkwardly, bowing and Changbin and Jisung echo him, bowing in turn as they pass through. Politeness is important.

(Felix seems startled and Changbin for the life of him cannot figure out why.)

Their routine is pretty simple. Stretch, practice. It seems Felix agrees because he falls in with them, mirroring their stretches. Changbin watches himself in the mirror, sees the scar on his chin, the hint of one where his shirt dips open to reveal a sliver of his chest. 

As it turns out, Felix is capable of doing a split. Changbin is incredibly jealous - he’s not quite as flexible and can come pretty close but not enough. Neither can Jisung, though Chan is able to do a split as well.

The practice part is where Felix seems to digress. Changbin tries a run of the most difficult routine (Morning’s Glory) and fumbles with the stupid pirouettes  _ why - _

Chan is the kindest person alive and comes to help him, nudging his back so his posture is straight. Changbin watches his figure in the mirror as he attempts another one. His shoulder keep hunching, which is annoying, so he tries again and again, until his shoulders finally hold straight.

Now to do multiple at the same time.

The problem with it is balance, mostly. Changbin remembers learning a trick to bypass this - keep your gaze fixed on a certain point and hold your body straight, like a spinning coin. He manages to do a clean double pirouette. 

Again.

Felix is watching them curiously, moving to the side to avoid Chan and Jisung. Changbin fixates his gaze on a spot of dust on the mirror and keeps practicing. He wants to be sure he can do it when he’s not focused only on spinning.

“What was the routine thing you were doing?” Felix asks eventually. Changbin comes down and blinks.

“Me? Or them?”

“Them.”

“It’s Magnolia,” Chan says.

“That sounds really neat. Can I see it?”

It sounds like genuine curiosity, which is nice. Changbin glances at Chan, who shrugs and heads for the back of the room. Jisung takes his place in the front and Changbin stands next to him.

Five, six, seven, eight, go. Changbin reaches up, forms an arc with Jisung’s hand. Fingertips only, for the moment, but as Chan steps forwards he laces his fingers with Jisung’s and steps back, curving his body into the arch as Chan contracts, spins on his heel and passes under them on tiptoe, rises up and raises a hand. They move with Chan’s gestures; up, down, separate, lunge into a roll and bow your head. Wait.

Take the hand, stand up, spin under your connected arms and let Jisung do the same, fall back from each other. Up, down, the opposite of your partner, to the middle of the room. Step back, twist, down into a crouch, roll onto your hipbone and pull your leg up. Down, swing it around, roll into a side lunge and up. Raise your arms, spread them open like a flower,  chaîné and plié and one two jump. Arms out, wait.

The routine finishes with Chan back in the center, both Jisung and Changbin behind him with their arms connected in an arc. Come full circle, Changbin supposes. Sweat rolls down his neck.

“It’s cool,” Felix says, “but kind of, uh, flat.”

Jisung makes an offended noise and Changbin can certainly see why. Chan frowns, standing up so they’re all in a line.

“Not in a mean way,” Felix adds. “It’s just that there’s no emotion or anything. Let me - ?”

Chan steps out of the way, sinking down against the mirror and Changbin sits next to him, waits. Did Felix have something more complicated? Magnolia wasn’t the most complex dance ever but -

Music starts playing, weirdly enough, a mounting beat that thrums through the floor and then Felix moves and it’s. 

Powerful is the only word that comes to mind because that’s exactly what it is, a sort of raw strength that infuses every movement. There’s weight behind it, a certain gravity that automatically draws your gaze. Felix is fast, then slow, fierce and then graceful and there may not be any jumps or spins but it’s amazing to watch anyway.

“Dance is supposed to show a part of you,” Felix says as the music dies down. “Everything, ugly or beautiful. Cause that’s what art is.”

It sounds so simple when he says it and Changbin resists the urge to turn around and look at the mirror, see his eyes staring back at him. To his right, Chan is motionless.

His existence was defined by his job. By the Monarch, living from mission to mission. But all of that was gone now and Changbin doesn’t know how to replace it, reaches blindly for something else to cling on to.

Who is he? Or, if Changbin wants to be more accurate, what is he? 

Chan gently brushes a thumb over his knuckles, tugs Changbin out of his spiral. Felix is suddenly closer and with the little distance between them Changbin can see the light freckles dotting his cheeks, the molten lights swirling in his irises. Galaxies. 

“Want to dance?” he asks, somehow playful and serious at the same time and Chan mouths something along the lines of  _ you don’t have to if you don’t want to. _

But somehow Changbin wants to, feels like he’s falling and Felix’s eyes pull him in, drowns to be able to breathe again. 

He stands up, pairing up with Felix and that leaves Chan and Jisung together. Felix turns the music on, tells them that they should just “dance and have fun!” And then pulls him into a spin and Changbin just goes with it, attempts to coordinate his limbs as the beat vibrates through the floor, mimics what Felix is doing until he kind of catches on to the rhythm of his movements.

And for once Changbin lets himself try and wonder what he is, what maybe he could be without the Monarch.


End file.
